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THE  STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


9 


CopvriQhf  fo>'j>ur-rx^^  J.n^'^  ^ McVrii.i  Wm-T.rH 

THE  MUSIC  R00:M  ' , , 

T"  HISTLE R u'as  f.rperimcntin<i  V'ifh  tdcns  d-  ' ‘n>d  / 

TiZ  il  >l  oJ>^  "f  ^'’"’■■7''^'"';":.::; 

'r  0/  Ihf  A,""'-'- 

rtiiiA  outside  the  Ilk-lure,  so  chomcteiistir  of  , irln  -e  irhik-  •■’> 

demic  notions,  the  ludi,  in  the  ridinri  hobil  looks  out  of  \ r. 

left  is  shoirn  a reflection  of  sometiunfl  aiiain  outside  the  />.  • ^ i'„,i,r,.„ 

^cas  the  contrast  betu-een  the  reflection  and  the  aclua  if!"'  bihiud 

the  one  in  black  and  the  one  in  u-hile;  to  j'''' ' 'ihiL  re ,.  esented  „e,r 

the  black.  At  the  time  the  picture  was  painted  all  these  d I 

technical  problems.  Collection  of  Colonel  Frank  J.  Hecker 


THE  STORY 

OF 

AMERICAN  PAINTING 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PAINTING  IN  AMERICA 
FROM  COLONIAL  TIMES  TO 
THE  PRESENT 


BY 

CHARLES  H.  CAFFIN 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
Fredekick  a.  Stokes  Company 
October,  1907 
All  rights  reserved 


AUTHOR’S  NOTE 


My  aim  has  been  to  trace  the  growth  of  Ameri- 
can Painting  from  its  scanty  beginnings  in  Colo- 
nial times  up  to  its  abundant  harvest  in  the  Present. 
At  first  the  story  is  necessarily  associated  with  the 
efforts  of  a few  individuals.  Later,  however,  as 
students  in  increasing  numbers  seek  instruction 
abroad,  it  becomes  concerned  less  with  individuals 
than  with  principles  of  motives  and  method.  The 
influence,  in  turn,  of  England,  Dusseldorf , Munich, 
and  Paris,  is  discussed,  and  allusion  to  individuals 
is  introduced  mainly  in  illustration  of  the  general 
theme.  I have  tried,  in  fact,  not  only  to  help  the 
reader  to  a knowledge  of  some  few  painters;  but, 
much  more,  to  put  him  in  possession  of  a basis  of 
appreciation,  on  which  he  may  form  judgments 
for  himself  of  the  work  that  is  being  done  to-day 
by  American  artists. 

Charles  H.  Caffin. 


New  York,  September  23,  1907. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE  PAGE 

I.  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  Conditions  . 1 

II.  Painters  in  America  after  the  Conclusion 

OF  Peace  23 

III.  The  Growth  of  the  National  Spirit  . . 46 

IV.  A Native  Growth  of  Landscape  Painting  . 66 

V.  Remnants  of  the  English  Influence  . . 85 

VI.  The  Influence  of  Dusseldorf  and  Munich  , 103 

VII.  The  Beginning  of  French  Influence:  the 

Barbizon  ......  121 

VIII.  John  La  Farge  ......  144 

IX.  French  Influence — The  Academic  . . 159 

X.  Continuance  of  Barbizon  Influence,  and 

Some  Examples  of  Independence  . . 198 

XI.  French  Influence  Continued:  Realism  and 

Impressionism  .....  229 

XII.  Further  Study  of  Light  and  Progress  of 

Landscape  ......  262 

XIII.  Whistler  .......  285 

XIV.  Some  Notes  on  Mural  Painting  . , . 304 

XV.  Summary  of  Results  .....  332 

XVI.  Summary  Continued  . . j,,  , s6l 


^ j 4 ^ 


4 


i 


V 


ti. 


t 


rA 


I 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Music  Room 
Portrait  of 


James  A.  McNeill  Whistler  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Mrs.  Robert 


Weir 

Artist  Unknown 

3 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Norton 

Quincey 

Artist  Unknown 

4 

Portrait  of  John  Lovell 

John  Smihert 

7 

Hagar  and  Ishmael 

Benjamin  West  . 

8 

Portrait  of  C.  W.  Peale  . 

Benjamin  West  , 

13 

Portrait  of  Lady  Went- 

worth   

John  Singleton  Copley  . 

14 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Izzard  . 

John  Singleton  Copley  . 

19 

Portrait  of  Colonel  Epes 

Sargent  

John  Singleton  Copley  . 

20 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Reid  in  the 

Character  of  a Sultana  Robert  Edge  Pine  . 

27 

The  American  School 

Matthew  Pratt  . 

28 

Portrait  of  Washington  . 

C.  W.  Peale  .... 

33 

The  Artist  in  His  Museum 

C.  W,  Peale  .... 

34 

The  “ Athenaeum  Por 

TRAIT  ” OF  Washington 

Gilbert  Stuart 

39 

Portrait  of  Dr.  Fothergill 

Gilbert  Stuart 

40 

Portrait  of  Alexander  Ham 

ILTON 

John  Trumbull  . 

51 

Battle  ofTBunker  Hill  . 

John  Trumbull  . 

52 

A Spanish  Girl 

Washington  Allston 

57 

The  Dead  Man  Restored  to 

Life 

Washington  Allston 

58 

Portrait  of  the  Artist  . 

John  Vanderlyn 

61 

[ix] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAOl 

Ariadne  of  Naxos  . . . John  Vanderlyn  . . 62 

Destruction  ....  Thomas  Cole  ...  67 

•The  Expulsion  from  Para- 
dise   Thomas  Cole  ...  68 

Landscape Asher  B.  Durand  . . 78 

On  the  Hudson  . . . Thomas  Doughty  . . 74 

Scene  at  Naponach  . . William  Hart  ...  79 

Yosemite  Valley  . . . Albert  Bierstadt  . . 80 

Cotopaxi Frederick  E.  Church  . 83 

Shoshone  Falls,  Snake 

River,  Idaho  . . . Thomas  Moran  ...  84 

Portrait  of  Eliza  Leslie  Thomas  Sully  ...  Q1 

Portrait  of  Daniel  Web- 
ster   Chester  Harding  . . 92 

Portrait  of  the  Artist  . Charles  Loring  Elliott  . 95 

Heels  Over  Head  . . . J.  G.  Brown  ...  96 

Washington  Crossing  the 

Delaware  ....  Emanuel  Leutze  . . 107 

Girl  and  Pets  ....  Eastman  Johnson  . . 108 

Two  Men Eastman  Johnson  . . Ill 

Well  and  Water  Tank, 

Italian  Villa  . . . Frank  Duveneck  . . 112 

Elizabeth  Boott  Duveneck  Frank  Duveneck  . . 115 

Lady  with  the  White  SnAWLlI'i'/Ziam  M.  Chase  . . Il6 

SuM.MER  Idyll  ....  Walter  Shirlaw  . . . 119 

Mother  and  Child  . . William  Morris  Hunt  . 120 

The  Boy  and  the  Butterfly iri7/iam  Morris  Hunt  . 181 

The  Bathers  ....  William  Morris  Hunt  . 132 

Midsummer George  Inness  . . . 187 

Early  Moonrise — Florida  George  Inness  . . . 138 

Peace  and  Plenty  . . George  Inness  . . . 141 

The  Golden  Age  . . . John  La  Farge  . . . 142 

Pomona John  La  Farge  . . . 147 

Christ  and  Nicodemus  . John  La  Farge  . . . 148 

Autumn John  La  Farge  . . . 157 

The  Portrait  ....  Will  H.  Low  . . . 158 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Ariadne 

Wyatt  Eaton 

PAGE 

169 

The  Reflection 

Benjamin  R,  Fitz 

. 

. 

170 

The  Keeper  op  the  Thresh 

OLD 

Elihu  Vedder 

175 

Arcadia 

H.  Siddons  Mowbray 

. 

176 

The  Sculptor  and  the  King 

George  de  Forest 

Brush 

179 

Portrait  Group 

George  de  Forest 

Brush 

180 

Virgin  Enthroned 

Abbot  H.  Thayer 

183 

Caritas 

Abbot  H,  Thayer 

184 

The  Look-out — All’s  Well 

Winslow  Homer 

187 

The  Spinet  .... 

T,  W.  Dewing  . 

188 

Le  Jaseur 

T,  W,  Dewing  . 

191 

La  P^che  

T.  W,  Dewing  . 

192 

Trial  of  Queen  Katherine  Edwin  A,  Abbey 

195 

The  Connecticut  Valley 

Alexander  H,  Wyant 

196 

Adirondack  Vista  . 

Alexander  H.  Wyant 

201 

Old  Church  in  Normandy 

Homer  D,  Martin 

202 

Westchester  Hills 

Homer  D.  Martin 

207 

View  on  the  Seine 

Homer  D.  Martin 

208 

The  Fire  Worshippers 

Homer  D,  Martin 

211 

Landscape 

Henry  W,  Ranger  . 

212 

The  Brook  by  Moonlight 

Ralph  A,  Blakeloch 

215 

Siegfried 

Albert  P,  Ryder 

216 

The  Flying  Dutchman  . 

Albert  P,  Ryder 

219 

The  Ice  Cutters  . 

Horatio  Walker 

220 

The  Wood  Cutters 

Horatio  Walker 

223 

Sheep  Washing 

Horatio  Walker 

224 

Aye  Maria 

Horatio  Walker 

227 

Dr.  Gross’  Surgical  Clinic 

Thomas  Eakins  . 

228 

The  West  Wind 

Winslow  Homer 

235 

The  Castaway  .... 

Winslow  Homer 

236 

An  Interlude  .... 

Sergeant  Kendall 

239 

Sea  and  Rocks  .... 

Paul  Dougherty 

240 

Calm  befcTre  a Storm  . 

Allen  B,  Talcott 

243 

Mrs.  Carl  Meyer  and  Chil 

DREN 

John  S.  Sargent 

244 

[xi] 

DREN 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAQB 


Portrait  of  Miss  Beatrice 


Goelet  . . . . 

. John  S,  Sargent 

. 

247 

Portrait  of  Henry  G. 

Mar- 

QUAND  . . . . 

. John  S.  Sargent 

. 

248 

Portrait  Group 

. John  S.  Sargent 

. 

251 

A Portrait  Study  . 

. Irving  R.  Wiles  . 

. 

252 

Miss  Kitty  . . . . 

. 

255 

Portrait  of  Adelaide 

Nut- 

ting 

. 

256 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Thomas 

Hastings  . . . . 

. John  W.  Alexander  . 

, 

259 

Portrait  . . . . 

. Wilton  Lockwood 

. 

260 

Lady  in  Black 

. Robert  Henri 

, 

263 

Against  the  Sky 

. Frank  W.  Benson  . 

. 

264 

The  Wave  . . . . 

. Alexander  Harrison 

. 

267 

Calm  Morning 

. Frank  W.  Benson 

. 

268 

Girls  Reading  . 

. Edmund  C.  Tarhell 

. 

271 

A Gentlewoman 

. J.  Alden  Weir  . 

. 

272 

The  Farm  in  Winter 

J.  Alden  Weir  . 

. 

275 

Listening  to  the  Orchard 

Oriole  . . . . 

. Childe  Hassam  . 

. 

276 

Lorelei 

. 

279 

A Rainy  Night 

. Childe  Hassam  . 

. 

280 

The  Hemlock  Pool 

. John  W.  Twachtman 

. 

283 

February  . . . . 

. John  W.  Twachtman 

, 

284 

Portrait  of  the  Artist's 

Mother James  A.  McNeill  Whistler  2Q3 

Portrait  of  Carlyle  . . James  A.  McNeill  Whistler  2Q4 

At  the  Piano  ....  James  A.  McNeill  Whistler  297 
Portrait  of  Miss  Alexander  ^4.  MciVetVZ  Whistler  298 

The  Ascension  . . . John  La  Farge  . . . 309 

The  Feet  Washers  . . W.  B.  Van  Ingen  . . 310 

The  Burning  of  the  “ Peggy 
Stewart/^  at  Annapolis, 

IN  1774* C.  Y.  Turner  . . . 317 

Pittsburgh  Personified  . John  W.  Alexander  . . 318 

[xii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 


The  Triumph  of  Minnesota  Edwin  H.  Blashfield  . S21 

The  Dogma  of  Redemption  John  S.  Sargent  . . 322 

The  Treaty  of  the  Tra- 


VERSE  DEs  Sioux  . 

. 

Frank  D.  Millet 

327 

Rome  .... 

Elihu  Vedder 

328 

On  the  Canal  . 

. 

TV,  L,  Lathrop  . 

333 

Pittsburgh  . 

. 

Colin  Campbell  Cooper  . 

334, 

Solitude 

. 

Charles  Melville  Dewey 

337 

The  Cloud  . 

. 

Albert  L.  Groll  . 

338 

May  Night  . 

. 

Willard  L.  Metcalf  . 

34,1 

The  Road  to  the  Old 

Farm 

J.  Francis  Murphy 

34,2 

Early  Spring  . 

. 

Leonard  Ochtman  . 

34,5 

The  Valley 

. 

Edward  W.  Redfield 

34,6 

The  Sluice 

. 

Frederick  Ballard  Williams 

34,9 

The  Shepherdess  . 

. 

Gari  Melchers 

350 

Mother  and  Child 
The  Sailor  and  His 

Sweet 

Gari  Melchers 

353 

HEART 

. 

Gari  Melchers 

354, 

Portrait  of  a Lady 

. 

Robert  David  Gauley 

357 

Lady  with  Muff  . 

. 

Robert  David  Gauley 

358 

The  Silver  Gown  . 

. 

Howard  J.  Cushing 

363 

The  Mysteries  of  Nigh’: 

r . 

J,  Humphreys  Johnston 

364, 

Europa  Sibyl  . 

. 

Hugo  B allin 

367 

Boys  with  Fish 

. 

Charles  W.  Hawthorne  . 

368 

Spanish  Fete  . 

. 

F.  Luis  Mora 

371 

Easter  Eve 

. 

John  Sloan  .... 

372 

Dumping  Snow 

. 

George  Luks 

375 

East  Side  Picture  . 
New  England  Farm  in 

Win 

Jerome  Myers  . 

376 

TER  .... 

Dwight  W.  Tryon  . 

379 

Twilight — Autumn 

. 

Dwight  W.  Tryon  . 

380 

Moonlight  . 

. 

Dwight  W,  Tryon 

383 

Lake  George  . 

. 

Eduard  J,  Steichen  . 

384, 

[xiu] 


THE  STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


The  Story  of  American  Painting 


CHAPTER  I 


COLONIAL  AND  REVOLUTIONARY  CONDITIONS 


IN  1784  the  House  met  in  Philadelphia  to 
ratify  the  Treaty  of  Peace.  After  seven 
years  of  struggle  the  United  States  of  Amer- 
ica had  shaken  off  the  foreign  yoke  and  were  com- 
mencing another  struggle  of  seven  years  among 
themselves  before  their  full  birthright  as  a united 
nation  should  be  established.  Once  more,  as  dur- 
ing the  much  longer  struggle  of  the  United  Prov- 
inces against  Spain,  a new  nation  had  been  born, 
and  a combination  of  racial  energy  and  local  ad- 
vantages was  to  produce  an  extraordinary  harvest 
of  national  development.  But  it  was  not  to  in- 
clude, as  in  the  case  of  Holland,  an  immediate 
development  in  the  art  of  painting. 

For  the  latter,  something  more  is  needed  than 
a virgin  soil,  spotted  over,  as  in  pre-Bevolutionary 
America,  with  a few  isolated  growths,  struggling 
bravely,  but  at  a disadvantage,  in  an  uncongenial 
environment.  Wherever  in  the  world  painting  has 
flourished,  it  has  done  so  after  a period  of  develop- 
ment, gradually  enriched  by  the  accumulation  of 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


local  or  borrowed  traditions,  until  at  length  it  has 
blossomed  into  independent  vigour. 

Such  scatterings  of  tradition  as  existed  during 
the  Colonial  period  had  been  derived  from  Eng- 
land, and  reflected  mostly  the  poor  conditions  of 
English  portrait  painting  which  prevailed  before 
the  rise  of  Reynolds  and  Gainsborough.  Even  the 
influence  of  the  latter,  when  it  came  to  be  estab- 
lished, was  overshadowed,  so  far  as  Americans  were 
concerned,  by  that  of  their  countryman.  West, 
whose  extraordinary  reputation  among  his  con- 
temporaries has  not  been  sustained  by  subsequent 
judgment. 

Nor  in  the  years  preceding  the  Revolution  had 
the  scanty  traditions  of  painting  been  favoured  by 
local  environments.  Men’s  minds  were  turned  to 
other  things  than  art,  and  the  only  conception  held 
of  painting  was  as  a means  of  producing  portraits. 
In  the  language  of  the  times,  the  “limner”  (this 
title  itself  a corruption  of  the  old  English  word 
“ illuminer,”  namely,  of  manuscripts)  was  spoken 
of  as  having  an  accurate  “ pencil  ” in  the  deline- 
ation of  “counterfeit  presentments.”  The  school 
from  which  he  had  graduated  was  more  than  sel- 
dom that  of  carriage  painting. 

Such  had  been  the  start  of  John  Smibert,  a 
native  of  Edinburgh.  He  reached  this  country  in 
1720,  three  years  after  the  arrival  of  Peter  Pelham, 

[2] 


MRS.  ROBERT  WEIR  nee 


LUCRETIA  TUCKERMAN,  17T0-1797 


Y an  unknown  painter,  who  t) 


•led  to  imitate  the  manner  of  the  great 


English  portrait  school 


In 


the  Collection  of  the  Worcester  Art  Museum 


PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  NORTON  QUINCEY 
nee  MARTHA  SALISBURY,  1727-1747 


'"'‘COUNTERFEIT  presentment'''  of  a 
"" limner f a contemporary  of  Smihert. 


Colonial  dame  hy  some  unknown 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Worcester  Art  Museum 


COLONIAL  CONDITIONS 


portrait  painter  and  mezzotint  engraver,  and  seven 
years  after  that  of  the  Swedish  painter,  Gustavus 
Hesselius,  who  is  credited  with  having  been  the  ear- 
liest painter  in  this  country.  In  England  Smibert 
had  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  taken  up  by  Dean, 
afterwards  Bishop,  Berkeley,  accompanying  him 
to  Italy,  and  later  to  Rhode  Island,  when  the  phi- 
losopher-philanthropist came  over  to  found  a mis- 
sionary college  in  this  country  for  the  conversion  of 
the  Indians.  At  what  is  now  Middletown,  three 
miles  from  Newport,  Berkeley  bought  an  estate 
which  he  called  Whitehall,  and  for  two  years  and  a 
half  officiated  at  Trinity  Church,  Newport,  visited 
the  Narragansett  Indians,  and  worked  upon  his 
book,  “ The  Minute  Philosopher,”  writing  the 
greater  part  of  it  in  a crevice  in  the  cliffs  over- 
looking the  sea.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Smibert 
executed  the  portrait  group  of  Berkeley  surrounded 
by  his  family,  which  picture,  together  with  the 
Dean's  library  of  a thousand  volumes,  became  the 
property  of  Yale  CoUege.  When,  in  consequence 
of  the  failure  of  the  home  government  to  give 
financial  support  to  his  scheme,  Berkeley  returned 
to  England,  Smibert  established  himself  in  Boston, 
and  lived  there  until  his  death  in  1751. 

It  is  charaeteristic  of  the  times  that  his  sitters 
were  chiefly  the  New  England  divines,  those  leaders 
of  a stern  theocracy  that  exercised  political  as  well 
as  spiritual  authority.  Think  of  the  mental  and 

[5] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


moral  atmosphere  which  surrounded  the  beginnings 
in  this  country  of  an  art  which  we  regard  to-day  as 
making  an  appeal  to  our  gesthetic  sensations.  Not 
even  in  the  sister  art  of  literature,  though  much 
had  been  written,  had  any  work  of  the  imagination 
been  produced,  nor  would  be  until  after  1820. 
Upon  political  pamphlets,  or  local  records  of  places, 
persons,  and  events,  the  writers  had  expended  their 
activity;  their  intellectual  force  upon  the  subtleties 
of  religious  controversy.  Such  appeals  as  had  been 
made  to  men’s  imaginations  were  of  the  kind  that 
may  be  read  in  the  sermons  of  Jonathan  Edwards, 
whose  keen  mind  revelled  in  analysing  the  vividly 
imagined  horrors  of  hell. 

“ O sinner,’*  he  preached,*  **  consider  the  fearful  danger 
you  are  in;  it  is  a great  furnace  of  wrath,  that  you  are  held 
over  in  the  hands  of  that  God,  whose  wrath  is  provoked  and 
incensed,  as  much  against  you,  as  against  many  of  the  damned 
in  hell! — you  hang  by  a slender  thread,  with  the  flames  of 
divine  wrath  flashing  about  it,  and  ready  every  moment  to 
singe  it  and  burn  it  asunder.  It  is  everlasting  wrath.  You 
will  know  certainly  that  you  will  wear  out  long  ages,  millions 
and  millions  of  ages,  in  wrestling  and  conflicting  with  this 
Almighty  merciless  vengeance;  and  then,  when  you  have  so 
done,  when  so  many  ages  have  actually  been  spent  by  you  in 
this  manner,  you  will  know  that  all  is  but  a point  of  what 
remains.” 

Nor  was  this  awful  fate  to  be  avoided  by  a man’s 

*“  Sinners  in  the  hands  of  an  Angry  God.” — Jonathan 
Edwards. 


[6] 


John  Smibekt 


PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN  LOVELL 

jQO/LV  1710,  graduated  from  Harvard  172S,  -Master  LovelV'  leeame  in  mO  usher  of  the 

JLJ  principal  from  173/,  to  1775.  Being  of  loyalist  persuasion,  he 

embarked  for  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia,  in  1776,  and  died  there  two  years  later. 

In  the  Collection  of  Harvard  University,  Cambridge 


HAGAR  AND  ISHMAEL 


Benjamin  West 


N example  of  the  grandiose  impotence  that  passed  for  the  grand  style'’’  among 
the  Italian  im’itators,  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century ; it  is  sweetened 
vnth  West's  particular  brand  of  elegant  sentimen  t ality. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


COLONIAL  CONDITIONS 


own  doing.  All  humanity — men,  women,  and  little 
children — all  for  the  sin  of  one  man  and  one  woman, 
were  predestined  to  this  horror  f or  eternity ; only  the 
“ goodness  ’’  of  God  selected  at  gracious  random  a 
few  souls  from  damnation.  These  were  conscious  of 
being  saved,  and  were  correspondingly  puffed  up 
with  self-satisfied  righteousness.  All  their  fellows 
lay  under  the  thick  pall  of  eternal  wrath ; by  it  was 
darkened  the  sky  of  their  lives;  lives  already 
hardened  through  long  conflict  with  severe  physical 
conditions  and  inured  to  the  constant  presence  of 
death  and  danger.  What  wonder  that  their  hardy 
and  indomitable  natures  took  refuge  in  a grim  and 
strenuous  severity.  The  theatre  in  New  England 
was  proscribed.  Even  as  late  as  1784  Massachu- 
setts re-enacted  the  earlier  sharp  laws  against  the 
stage;  and  New  York  and  Philadelphia  still 
frowned  upon  it. 

To  this  mental  and  moral  rigour,  however,  the 
Southern  States  presented  a notable  contrast.  Bal- 
timore was  a warm  supporter  of  the  drama,  and 
much  addicted  to  balls  and  routs,  while  the  open-air 
promenades  of  gaily-dressed  people,  with  their 
scenes  of  courtship  and  merriment,  were  a distin- 
guished feature  of  her  social  life.  Charleston  also 
was  famous  for  wealth  and  gaiety  and  for  the  ele- 
gance of  her  homes.  In  these  and  in  the  country 
mansions,  thickly  sown  over  the  Southern  States, 
were  to  be  found  most  of  the  pictures  which  had 

[9] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


been  imported  from  Europe.  It  would  seem  as  if 
the  conditions  of  life  among  these  descendants  of 
cavalier  settlers  should  have  been  favourable  to  art, 
yet  it  is  a strange  fact  that  it  was  not  in  the  rich, 
luxurious  South,  but  out  of  the  flinty  rigour  of  the 
North  and  East  that  American  painting  began  its 
thrifty  growth.  Some  of  the  painters,  it  is  true, 
made  professional  tours  through  the  South,  and 
Southerners,  attracted  to  Philadelphia,  when  it  be- 
came the  capital  of  Government  and  fashion,  were 
among  the  best  patrons  of  the  painters  then  estab- 
lished in  that  city.  Nevertheless  the  fact  remains, 
that  not  Charleston  or  Baltimore,  but  Philadelphia 
and  Boston  are  the  places  chiefly  identifled  with  the 
early  beginnings  of  American  painting. 

In  pre-Revolutionary  times  the  most  notable  of 
the  native-born  painters  were  Benjamin  West,  John 
Singleton  Copley,  Charles  Wilson  Peak,  and  Gil- 
bert Stuart.  By  his  contemporaries  West  was  re- 
garded as  a prodigy.  That  a child,  born  in  1738, 
in  a Quaker  village,  Springfield,  near  Philadelphia, 
and  reared  among  conditions  of  strict  and  primitive 
simplicity,  should  have  evolved  out  of  himself  a 
craving  to  be  an  artist;  that  his  earliest  lessons  in 
colour  had  been  derived  from  the  Indians,  in  the 
crude  pigments  of  yellow,  red,  and  blue  with  which 
they  decorated  their  own  persons;  that,  after  the 
present  of  a paint  box  from  a certain  Mr.  Penning- 

[10] 


COLONIAL  CONDITIONS 


ton,  the  youth  was  able  in  time  to  produce  results 
that  secured  him  commissions  for  portraits  in  Phila- 
delphia and  later  in  New  York,  and  eventually,  in 
his  twenty-second  year,  attracted  a patron  who  pro- 
vided the  necessary  means  for  his  visit  to  Rome — all 
this  seemed  phenomenal.  And  so  also  was  his  recep- 
tion when  at  length  he  arrived  in  London. 

But  from  this  point  he  belongs  to  England  rather 
than  to  America ; so  completely  that,  when  Reynolds 
died.  West  was  elected  President  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  and  received  the  order  of  Knighthood. 
He  died  in  1820,  and  was  buried  with  pomp  in  St. 
PauFs  Cathedral. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  he  had  an  indirect  influ- 
ence upon  his  countrymen,  for  his  success  fired  their 
imaginations,  and  his  assistance  was  generously 
given  to  American  students  who  had  found  their 
way  to  London.  Yet  this  influence  was  unfortu- 
nate. The  English,  giving  him  the  privileges  of  a 
pampered  child,  had  encouraged  him  in  the  direction 
in  which  Reynolds,  fortunately  for  himself,  had 
been  discouraged.  Accordingly,  while  some  of 
West’s  portraits,  such  as  that  of  C.  W.  Peale, 
possess  considerable  vivacity,  his  works  of  imagina- 
tion are  pompous  and  pretentious  in  conception,  in 
technique  tentative  and  clumsy.  They  created  a 
taste  for  grandiloquent  subject  rather  than  for 
painter-like  excellence  of  workmanship.  But,  as 
we  shall  frequently  have  occasion  to  notice,  the  gen- 

[11] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


eral  aim  of  painting  in  the  nineteenth  century,  in 
which  American  painting  will  share,  will  be  to  get 
away  from  excessive  preoccupation  with  subject, 
and  more  and  more  to  develop  the  resources  of 
painting,  as  an  art,  independent  of  literary  alli- 
ances. So  in  this  way,  also.  West  is  cut  off  from 
the  stream  of  movement. 

On  the  other  hand,  John  Singleton  Copley,  al- 
though he  subsequently  settled  down  in  England, 
remains  a vital  factor  in  the  story  of  American 
painting.  He  identified  himself  very  closely  with 
pre-Re  volutionary  times  by  the  number  of  his  por- 
traits of  eminent  men  and  women;  and  is  himself 
also  distinguished  even  to  this  day  for  the  life-like 
vivacity  of  these  portraits  and  for  his  skill  in  paint- 
ing. Indeed,  this  Boston  painter,  practically  self- 
taught,  and  with  no  examples  of  painting  to  guide 
him,  save  the  portraits  by  Smibert  and  such  of 
West’s  as  had  found  their  way  into  the  homes  of 
the  city,  developed  a facility  of  craftmanship  that, 
considering  the  straitness  of  his  opportunity,  is  most 
remarkable.  And  it  is  to  be  observed  that  his 
powers  were  fuUy  matured  before  he  settled  in 
England. 

Copley’s  parents  had  come  from  Ireland,  and 
settled  in  Boston  to  engage  in  the  tobacco  business. 
About  the  time  of  his  son’s  birth  ( 1737) , the  father, 
Richard  Copley,  died,  and  the  boy  was  named  after 

[12] 


PORTRAIT  OF  C.  W.  PEALE  Be^amin  West 


N mqagi-y  picture,  though  the  elegantly  affected  pose  of  the  hand  may  he  more  suggestive 
of  West's  mannerisms  than  of  the  character  of  Peale. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  New  York  Historical  Society 


V ’ . 


PORTRAIT  OF  LADY  WENTWORTH 


John  Singleton  Copley 


OTWITHSTANDING  the  hardness  of  the  drawing  and  the  metal-like  textures^  the 
portrait  is  charming  in  its  high-hred  elegance. 

In  the  Lenox  Collection  of  the  New  York  Public  Library 


COLONIAL  CONDITIONS 


his  maternal  grandfather,  John  Singleton,  of  Quin- 
ville  Abbey,  County  Clare.  Ten  years  later  the 
mother  married  that  Peter  Pelham,  painter  and 
mezzotint-engraver  and  precursor  of  Smibert,  who 
has  been  mentioned  above.  His  assistance  to  young 
Copley,  who  early  showed  a gift  for  drawing,  must 
have  been  considerable,  especially  as  the  stepfather 
taught  him  his  own  art  of  engraving.  When  Pel- 
ham died,  in  the  same  year  as  Smibert,  Copley  was 
fourteen,  and  for  the  rest  had  to  be  his  own  master. 
He  had  no  lack  of  commissions,  however,  and  his 
progress  was  rapid. 

At  this  time  Boston  was  a city  of  some  eighteen 
thousand  inhabitants,  confined  to  three  hills,  which 
gave  it  its  second  name  of  Trimountain.  As  yet 
there  was  no  bridge  across  the  Charles  River,  and  at 
high  tides  the  city  was  cut  off  from  connection  with 
the  mainland.  The  better  class  of  dwellings  were  on 
the  west  side;  houses  of  brick,  with  Corinthian  pi- 
lasters adorning  the  fa9ades,  and  columned  porches 
covered  with  roses  and  honeysuckles,  and  ap- 
proached by  sandstone  steps  which  led  up  from 
gardens  filled  with  English  elms  and  shrubs.  The 
fine  furniture  in  these  dwellings  was  from  England 
or  France.  Moreover,  since  Smibert’s  day  the 
rigour  of  life  was  lessening.  Two  conditions  had 
contributed  to  the  change.  In  the  first  place,  the 
domination  of  the  divines  had  given  way  before  the 
rising  influence  of  laymen,  such  as  Otis  and  Samuel 

[15] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


Adams;  men  of  broad  culture  who  became  by  force 
of  character  and  through  their  zeal  in  public  aff airs 
the  natural  leaders  of  the  community.  In  the  sec- 
ond place,  class  distinction  had  become  more  defined. 
The  men  and  women  who  throng  the  canvases  of , 
Copley  are  conscious  of  their  worth  and  importance, 
perhaps  more  than  a little  self-conscious,  “ Pride 
of  birth  had  not  then  been  superseded  by  pride  of 
wealth.  The  distinction  of  gentle  blood  was 
cherished.  Equality  had  begun  to  assert  itself  only 
as  a political  axiom ; as  a social  principle,  it  had  not 
dawned  upon  the  ultra-reformers.” 

The  Portrait  of  Lady  Wentworth,  painted  when 
she  was  nineteen  and  the  artist  twenty-eight,  shows 
him  in  full  possession  of  his  powers.  It  is  true  that 
the  draperies  are  inclined  to  be  metallic  in  texture, 
and  the  flesh  parts  marble-like  in  polish  and  hard- 
ness; indeed,  that  the  various  textures  throughout 
the  picture  have  a prevailing  similarity  of  shining 
rigidity,  since  the  suggestion  of  atmosphere  is  lack- 
ing, as  it  is  more  or  less  in  all  of  Copley’s  works. 

“ Yet,  the  want  of  ease  and  nature  in  his  portraits 
is  as  authentic  as  the  costumes.  They  are  generally 
dignified,  elaborate,  and  more  or  less  ostentatious 
and  somewhat  mechanical,  but  we  recognise  in  these 
very  traits  the  best  evidence  of  their  correctness. 
They  illustrate  the  men  and  women  of  the  day, 
when  pride,  decorum,  and  an  elegance,  sometimes 
ungraceful  but  always  impressive,  marked  the  dress 
and  air  of  the  higher  classes.  The  hardness  of  the 

[16] 


COLONIAL  CONDITION'S 


outlines  and  the  semi-official  aspect  of  the  figures 
correspond  with  the  spirit  of  those  times.”  * 

Despite,  however,  some  deficiency  of  painter-like 
quality,  the  portrait  of  Lady  Wentworth  bears  an 
impress  of  fine  authority  and  is  full  of  personal 
character. 

This  Boston  belle,  who  is  represented  toying  with 
the  chain  of  a captive  fiying  squirrel  (a  detail  which 
Copley  several  times  introduced  into  his  pictures) , 
was  a daughter  of  Samuel  Wentworth,  and  had 
been  engaged  to  her  cousin,  John  Wentworth,  the 
last  Royal  Governor  of  New  Hampshire.  But,  in 
pique  at  his  prolonged  absence  on  some  affair  of 
business,  she  married  Theodore  Atkinson,  and  it  is 
as  his  wife  that  she  is  here  represented.  He  died, 
however,  in  a few  years,  and  within  a fortnight  of 
his  funeral  she  married  her  old  love.  When  the 
troubles  with  the  Mother  Country  arose  she  accom- 
panied her  husband  to  England.  He  was  appointed 
Governor  of  Nova  Scotia,  holding  the  position  from 
1792  to  1808,  when  he  resigned,  but  continued  to 
live  in  Halifax  until  his  death  in  1820.  He  had 
been  created  a baronet  in  1795 ; and  three  years  later 
Lady  Frances  was  made  a lady-in-waiting  to  Queen 
Charlotte,  with  permission,  however,  to  live  abroad. 
For  eleven  years  she  lived  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  then 
returned  to  England,  where  she  died  in  1813. 

Considered  on  the  one  hand  solely  as  a personal 
document,  this  picture  has  extraordinary  interest. 

* Tuckerman’s  “ Book  of  the  Artists.” 

[17] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


What  an  air  of  birth  and  breeding  the  lady  exhib- 
its, a consciousness  of  indisputable  social  rank  and 
beauty;  what  a complete  poise  of  self-possession, 
tinctured,  however,  with  just  a flavour  of  prim 
severity ! How  the  portrait  vivifies  a certain  phase 
of  the  past  to  our  imagination!  Nor  less  remark- 
able is  the  technical  charm  of  the  picture,  when  one 
remembers  out  of  what  a poverty  of  artistic  oppor- 
tunity Copley  had  emerged  to  this  proficiency. 
Only  a few  years  separate  his  art  from  Smibert’s, 
and  yet  it  is  as  f ar  in  advance  of  the  latter’s  as  the 
freer  social  conditions  of  Copley’s  day  surpass  in 
attractiveness  the  narrow  rigidity  of  Smibert’s. 
And  it  is  precisely  these  altered  social  conditions 
which  had  much,  perhaps  most,  to  do  with  Copley’s 
achievement.  Himself  of  good  family,  handsome, 
brilliant  in  manner,  and  early  gaining  skill  and  suc- 
cess as  a painter,  he  moved  in  the  best  society,  and 
dressed  and  lived  in  style.  Within  the  limited  range 
of  New  England  life  he  played  such  a part  as 
Van  Dyck  in  his  day  played  in  the  larger  world  of 
Antwerp  and  London.  His  art,  moreover,  has  so 
much  of  the  same  kind  of  distinction  as  Van  Dyck’s 
that  one  hazards  a belief  it  might  have  approached 
it  very  closely  in  degree  of  distinction  also,  had  his 
early  opportunities  been  as  favourable. 

In  1769,  when  he  was  thirty-two  years  old,  Cop- 
ley, now  a thoroughly  successful  painter,  married 
the  daughter  of  Mr.  Richard  Clarke,  a wealthy  mer- 

[18] 


I ? 

5^  "O 


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a. 


0«5  ^ ® 

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^ 'g 

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^ § 

■§>1 


PORTRAIT  OR  COTOXEI.  EPES  SARGENT  g.  Cop,.v 

of  CopU,:  pov-er  of  ckararferLoUon,  o„nhu,e,l  to  IJ,c  period  before 
^■eeelTT  / f!''"'. «/  deetro^ed  by  the 

fro,n  ttflZH-h  ^:Zl!r 


In  Ihe  (Collection  of  Mrs.  G.  M.  Clements 


COLONIAL  CONDITIONS 


chant  and  agent  of  the  East  India  Company,  to 
whom  later  was  consigned  that  historic  cargo  of  tea 
which  was  flung  into  Boston  harbour.  Anticipat- 
ing the  trouble  with  England,  Copley  went  to 
Rome,  where  he  painted  the  portrait  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ralph  Izard,  the  former  a wealthy  planter  of 
South  Carolina,  and  his  wife,  before  her  marriage 
a Miss  Alice  DeLancey,  of  Mamaroneck,  New 
York.  Her  flgure,  as  she  submits  a sketch  to  her 
husband,  is^full  of  charm;  but  his  exhibits  Copley’s 
weakest  trait  of  hardness  in  drawing.  Moreover, 
the  elaborate  artiflciality  of  the  whole  composition, 
in  so  marked  a contrast  to  the  rather  severe  refine- 
ment of  the  earlier  portrait,  throws  an  interesting 
side-light,  both  on  the  influences  he  had  encountered 
since  leaving  home  and  on  his  own  predilections. 
We  see  that  he  had  already  come  under  the  fascina- 
tion of  that  pretentious  grandiloquence  which  was 
passing  for  the  “ grand  style  ” in  Europe;  and  may 
judge  from  the  rapidity  with  which  he  imitated  this 
mannerism,  that  at  heart  he  was  disposed  toward  it. 
It  is  an  interesting  example  of  the  artistic  spirit, 
curbed  by  the  narrowness  of  environment,  such  as 
Copley  experienced  in  Boston,  bursting  forth  under 
freer  conditions.  Unhappily,  the  latter,  in  his 
case,  were  inclined  to  be  meritricious. 

From  Rome  the  painter  went  to  London,  where 
he  was  kindly  received  by  West,  and  soon  became 
popular  with  a public  already  familiar  with  his 

[21] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


work  through  the  exhibitions  of  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy. His  wife  joined  him,  sailing  in  the  last 
American  ship  which  passed  out  of  Boston  har- 
bour under  the  British  ensign,  and  the  rest  of  his 
life  was  spent  in  England.  Here  he  gained  a great 
reputation  for  historical  pictures,  such  as  The  Death 
of  Chatham.  But  they  were  little  more  than  an  ag- 
gregation of  portraits,  and  do  not  compare  in  actual 
artistic  merit  with  such  a single  portrait  as  that  of 
Lady  Wentworth.  He  died  in  1815,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-eight,  and  was  buried  in  the  Church  of  St. 
John,  at  Croydon,  near  London.  His  son,  under 
the  title  of  Lord  Lyndhurst,  was  three  times  Lord 
Chancellor  of  England. 

West  had  left  this  country  before  there  was  any 
suggestion  of  strained  relations  with  England,  and 
had  become  so  identified  with  the  latter  that  prob- 
ably no  question  of  choice  of  allegiance  occurred  to 
him.  With  Copley,  however,  it  was  different. 
Clearly  in  his  case  the  instinct  of  the  artist  was 
stronger  than  that  of  the  patriot.  He  was  the  first 
of  a numerous  band  of  American  painters  who  have 
deliberately  chosen  to  live  in  Europe,  because  there 
they  could  find  an  atmosphere  more  congenial  to 
their  art. 

We  have  now  to  consider  a group  of  men  who, 
after  studying  abroad,  with  equal  deliberation  re- 
turned home  or  settled  here,  to  throw  in  their  lot 
with  the  new  nation. 


[22] 


CHAPTER  II 


PAINTERS  IN  AMERICA  AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION 
OF  PEACE 

A T the  conclusion  of  peace,  there  were  among 
the  painters  whose  work  attracts  particular 
JL  notice  just  four,  practising  their  art  in 
America.  Of  these,  Joseph  Wright  was  at  Mount 
Vernon,  painting  portraits  of  General  and  Mrs. 
Washington  to  the  order  of  the  Count  de  Solms.  A 
native  of  Bordentown,  N.  J.,  where  he  was  born  in 
1756,  he  had  been  a pupil  of  West,  and  then  visited 
Paris.  Returning  in  1783,  he  painted  during  the 
autumn  of  that  year  at  headquarters,  Princeton,  a 
portrait  of  Washington,  having  first  taken  a plaster 
cast  of  the  sitter’s  head.  When  the  United  States 
mint  was  established  at  Philadelphia  he  was  ap- 
pointed designer  and  die-sinker,  and  there  is  reason 
to  believe  that  the  first  coins  and  medals  executed  in 
this  country  were  his  handiwork.  He  died,  a vic- 
tim of  the  plague  which  ravaged  Philadelphia,  in 
1793. 

In  the  latter  city  were  residing  at  the  termination 
of  the  war  the  three  others  of  the  four  painters 
alluded  to  above:  Robert  Edge  Pine,  Matthew 
Pratt,  and  C.  W.  Peale. 

[23] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


For  Boston’s  share  in  the  story  of  American 
painting*  is  by  this  time  retrospective,  and  re- 
mained so  until  Stuart  settled  there  ten  years  later. 
For  the  present  the  attractions  of  Philadelphia^ 
as  the  seat  of  government  and  fashion,  were  supe- 
rior. It  was  the  biggest  city  in  the  country.  No 
other  could  boast  of  so  many  streets,  arranged  with 
regularity  and  well  paved,  but  so  full  of  filth  and 
dead  cats  and  dogs  that  their  condition  was  made 
the  subject  of  a satire  by  Francis  Hopkinson,  bet- 
ter known  as  the  author  of  the  “ Battle  of  the 
Kegs.”  No  other  city  could  boast  so  large  a popu- 
lation or  so  much  renown.  There  Franklin  had 
made  his  discoveries,  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence had  been  signed,  and  Congress  had  deliberated. 
No  other  city  was  so  rich,  so  extravagant,  so  fash- 
ionable. Lee,  in  his  correspondence  with  Wash- 
ington, described  it  as  an  attractive  scene  of 
amusements  and  debauch;  and  Lovel,  also  writing 
to  Washington,  had  called  it  a place  of  crucifying 
expenses.*  Moreover,  her  citizens  had  the  shrewd- 
ness to  permit  one  permanent  theatre  as  a conces- 
sion to  the  unregenerate  taste  of  Senators  and 
Congressmen;  although  there  was  a strong  objec- 
tion to  legalising  this  new  species  of  luxury  and 
dissipation. 

It  was  the  Honourable  Francis  Hopkinson,  mem- 

* J.  B.  McMaster. 

[24] 


AFTER  TFIE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


tioned  above,  one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  a graduate  of  Princeton,  and  an 
Admiralty  Judge  of  Pennsylvania,  who  was  the 
first  in  this  country  to  sit  to  the  Englishman, 
Pine.  The  latter,  born  in  London  in  1742,  a 
son  of  John  Pine  the  engraver,  arrived  in  1784, 
and  settled  in  Philadelphia,  causing  no  little  stir 
by  exhibiting  privately  to  the  select  few — “ the 
manners  and  morals  of  the  Quaker  City  forbid- 
ding its  exposure  to  the  common  eye  ” — the  first 
cast  of  the  ‘‘  Venus  de  Medici  ” brought  to  this 
country. 

It  was  his  ambition,  in  which  he  anticipated 
Trumbull,  to  paint  a series  of  historical  pictures, 
commemorating  the  events  of  the  Revolution  and 
including  portraits  of  the  principal  participants. 
For  this  purpose,  in  the  intervals  of  his  labours  as 
a teacher  of  drawing  and  a painter  of  occasional 
portraits,  he  executed  a number  of  ‘‘  distinguished 
heads.”  Among  the  latter  were  studies  of  Wash- 
ington, General  Gates,  Charles  Carroll,  and  Baron 
Steuben.  However,  before  he  could  realise  his  am- 
bition, he  died  in  1790,  at  Philadelphia. 

“ At  the  corner  of  Spruce  Street,  in  Philadelphia, 
a few  years  since,”  wrote  Tuckerman  in  1867, 
“ hung  a shopr-sign,  representing  a cock  in  a barn- 
yard, which  attracted  much  attention  by  its  manifest 
superiority  to  such  insignia  in  general.’’  It  was 

[25] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


from  the  brush  of  Matthew  Pratt  (born  at  Phila- 
delphia in  1734),  who  also  executed  a famous  sign- 
board, containing  portraits  of  leaders  of  the  Con- 
vention of  1788,  which  used  to  hang  at  the  corner  of 
Chestnut  and  Fourth  Streets. 

For  in  those  days  (I  quote  from  J.  B.  Mc- 
Master)  the  numbering  of  shops  and  houses  had  not 
yet  come  into  fashion,  and  every  business  street 
presented  an  endless  succession  of  golden  balls, 
of  blue  gloves,  of  crowns  and  sceptres,  dogs  and 
rainbows,  elephants  and  horseshoes.  They  served 
sometimes  as  advertisements  of  the  business,  some- 
times merely  as  designation  of  the  shops,  which  were 
indicated  popularly  in  the  newspapers  by  their 
signs.  The  custom  still  lingers,  but  now  we  are 
accustomed  to  regard  the  sign  as  bearing  a direct 
relation  to  the  character  of  the  business  it  advertises. 
One  hundred  years  ago,  however,  no  such  relation 
was  understood  to  exist,  and  it  was  not  thought  re- 
markable that  Philip  Freeman  should  keep  his 
famous  bookstore  at  Boston  at  the  “Blue  Glove” 
on  Union  Street. 

Through  the  exigencies  of  the  times  in  which  he 
lived,  Pratt  painted  many  such  signs,  and  seems  to 
have  gained  among  his  contemporaries  more  reputa- 
tion for  them  than  for  his  portraits.  Perhaps  not 
unjustly,  since  the  latter,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  por- 
trait of  Cadwallader  Colden,  Lieutenant-Governor 
of  the  Province  of  New  York,  1761-1775,  which 

[26] 


PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  REID  IN  THE 

CHARACTER  OF  A SULTANA  Robert  Edge  Pine 


HIS  canvas  recalls  the  fad  in  society  during  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  for 
ladies  to  pose  for  their  portraits  in  classic  or  romantic  costumes.  It  was  encouraged  hy 
the  painters  because  it  offered  extra  opportunity  for  picturesque  arrangement. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


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AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


now  hangs  in  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  New 
York,  are  heavy  in  colour  and  laboriously  dignified. 
They  reproduce  the  worst  features  of  West,  with 
whom  Pratt  studied  for  two  years  and  a half,  being, 
indeed,  his  first  American  pupil.  The  occasion  of 
his  visit  to  London  was  to  escort  thither  his  relative, 
Miss  Shewell,  the  long-affianced  bride  of  West,  to 
whom  he  “ gave  her  away  ” at  St.  Martin’s  in  the 
Strand.  The  sojourn  in  his  master’s  studio  is  com- 
memorated in  The  American  School  of  the  Metro- 
politan Museum,  his  most  important  work.  The 
figure  to  the  left,  with  the  hat  on,  is  West’s,  who  is 
represented  in  the  act  of  criticising  one  of  Pratt’s 
drawings,  while  the  other  students  listen.  With  the 
exception  of  this  visit  to  London,  one  to  Ireland  in 
1770,  and  another  to  New  York  in  1772,  Pratt’s 
life  was  spent  in  Philadelphia,  and  there  he  died  in 
1805. 

But,  by  all  odds,  the  most  famous  resident  Ameri- 
can painter  of  the  period,  and  the  one  most  interest- 
ing to  ourselves,  is  Charles  Willson  (or  Wilson) 
Peale;  for  his  life  was  remarkably  characteristic  of 
the  time,  and  so  intimately  related  to  some  of  its 
most  important  events.  Born  at  Chesterton,  Mary- 
land, in  1741,  he  displayed  from  his  youth  mechan- 
ical ability  and  remarkable  versatility.  In  early  life 
he  proved  himself  a clever  worker  in  leather,  wood, 
and  metal.  He  could  make  a harness,  a clock,  or 

[29] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


silver  moulding;  he  stuffed  birds,  extracted,  re- 
paired, and  manufactured  teeth,  and  delivered  pop- 
ular lectures.  By  degrees,  discovering  some  skill  in 
drawing,  he  first  took  lessons  in  Annapolis  f rom  the 
Swedish  painter,  Gustavus  Hesselius,  then  studied 
under  Copley  in  Boston,  and  finally  with  West  in 
London.  Upon  his  return  to  this  country  he  lived 
for  two  years  in  Annapolis,  and  in  1772  painted  the 
first  life-size  portrait  of  Washington,  showing  him 
in  his  aspect  before  the  Revolution.  Washington 
was  at  the  time  forty  years  old,  and  is  represented 
as  a Virginia  colonel,  in  blue  coat,  scarlet  facings, 
scarlet  waistcoat  and  breeches,  and  a purple  scarf 
over  the  left  shoulder.  It  was  the  uniform  in  which 
he  had  served  eighteen  years  before  against  the 
French  and  Indians  near  the  headwaters  of  the 
Ohio,  and  in  which  a year  later  he  had  taken 
part  in  Braddock’s  disastrous  expedition,  where 
his  coolness  and  bravery  saved  a remnant  of  the 
force. 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  Peale  joined 
the  army  and  commanded  a company  at  the  battles 
of  Trenton  and  Germantown.  In  the  intervals  of 
fighting  he  worked  upon  his  second  portrait  of 
Washington,  which  had  been  commissioned  by  Con- 
gress. The  picture  was  begun  during  the  gloomy 
winter  of  1777-1778  at  Valley  Forge,  and  continued 
at  Monmouth.  Here  Washington  suggested  intro- 
ducing as  a background  the  view  from  the  window 

[30] 


AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


of  the  farmhouse  in  which  he  was  at  the  time  sitting 
for  his  portrait,  and  Peale  painted  in  the  Monmouth 
Courthouse  with  a body  of  Hessians  issuing  from  it 
under  guard.  Later,  when  he  finished  the  picture 
at  Princeton,  he  added  a view  of  Nassau  Hall.  In 
all  he  painted  fourteen  portraits  of  Washington, 
and  it  is  upon  these,  although  his  work  includes  the 
portraits  of  many  other  famous  men,  that  his  repu- 
tation is  chiefly  based. 

It  is  customary  to  speak  of  these  portraits  as 
being  more  interesting  in  the  way  of  memorials  than 
as  works  of  art.  Yet  it  may  be  doubted  if  this 
estimate  is  just,  for  Peak’s  portraits  have  an  actual- 
ity as  vivid  as  Copley’s.  He  lacked,  it  is  true,  the 
latter’s  versatility,  his  elegance  of  suggestion,  and 
facility  in  rendering  sumptuous  fabrics,  because 
he  was  more  concerned  with  virility  of  character 
in  men  than  with  the  graces  of  femininity.  He  had 
even  less  feeling  than  Copley  for  the  aesthetic  qual- 
ities of  painting,  as  in  itself  a source  of  emotional 
expression;  for  with  him  it  was  purely  a means  to 
an  end.  Yet  within  this  narrow  conception  of  art 
he  was  so  single-minded  and  sincere  that  his  pictures 
are  extraordinarily  convincing,  and,  if  you  view 
them  for  what  they  aimed  to  be,  faithful  records 
of  objective  facts,  most  stimulating  and  conclusive. 
They  are  the  work  of  a man  who  in  many  respects 
was  less  than  a painter,  but  in  others  very  much 


more. 


[31] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


He  was  active  in  the  service  of  his  country  as  in 
that  of  art.  In  addition  to  his  military  career,  he 
had  been  a member  of  the  Philadelphia  Convention 
of  1777.  Having  discovered  some  mammoth  bones, 
he  commenced  a collection  of  objects  relating  to  the 
sciences  and  arts,  which  was  the  first  step  in  the 
direction  of  a museum  in  this  country.  He  also 
attempted  to  estabhsh  in  Philadelphia  a school  of 
fine  arts,  and  was  successful  in  organising  the  first 
exhibition  of  paintings.  Finally,  in  1805,  he  co- 
operated in  the  foundation  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Academy,  the  oldest  of  all  our  existing  art  institu- 
tions. For  the  New  York  Academy  of  Fine  Arts, 
though  founded  four  years  earlier,  had  succumbed 
to  straitened  circumstances,  and  it  was  not  until 
1828  that  the  present  National  Academy  of  Design 
was  launched  upon  its  career.  It  is  an  interesting 
characteristic  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  that, 
while  its  promoters  included  some  painters,  its  man- 
agement has  always  been  in  the  hands  of  laymen. 
Its  original  object,  as  set  forth  in  its  parchment  of 
incorporation,  was: 

**  To  promote  the  cultivation  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the  United 
States  of  America  by  introducing  correct  and  elegant  copies 
from  works  of  the  first  masters  in  Sculpture  and  Painting,  and 
by  thus  facilitating  the  access  to  such  standards,  and  also  by 
conferring  moderate  but  honourable  premiums,  and  otherwise 
assisting  studies  and  exciting  the  efforts  of  artists,  gradually 
to  unfold,  enlighten  and  invigorate  the  talents  of  our  coun- 
trymen.” 


[32] 


PORTRAIT  OF  WASHINGTON  C.  W.  Peale 


ARD  in  drawing  and  suggestive  of  a scrupulous  imitation  of  the  subject,  hit  by 
bit — the  very  opposite  of  the  modern  synthetic  method  of  suggestion  of  the  whole  as 
a whole  — yet  full  of  force  by  reason  of  its  sincerity  of  purpose. 

In  the  Lenox  Collection  of  the  New  York  Public  Library 


THE  ARTIST  IN  HIS  MUSEUM  C.  W.  Peale 


PICTURE  of  extraordinary  interest,  illustrating  in  the  first  place  the  beginning 
of  our  museums,  and  in  the  second  a portrait  of  Peale  by  himself  at  the  age  of 
eighty-three. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


This  quaintly  expresses  the  high  and  stalwart 
purpose  of  the  times ; a consciousness  of  the  limited 
conditions  of  the  start,  a conviction  of  the  harvest 
of  the  future;  and  among  the  contemporary 
painters  none  was  so  representative  of  his  time  as 
Charles  Wilson  Peale.  . 

On  the  other  hand,  the  great  exception  to  the 
otherwise  limited  conditions  of  the  period  was  Gil- 
bert Stuart;  for  his  qualifications  as  a painter  were 
not  to  be  rivalled  by  any  other  American  for  nearly 
half  a century.  He  was  born  in  1755,  at  Narragan- 
sett,  where  his  father,  a Scotch  refugee,  who  had 
been  mixed  up  in  the  troubles  of  the  Pretender, 
owned  a snuff-grinding  mill  on  the  Petaquamscott 
Pond.  He  had  married  a Welsh  lady,  from  whom 
the  son  inherited  a taste  for  music  and  skill  in  play- 
ing the  organ.  The  boy,  when  quite  young,  had 
shown  an  inclination  for  drawing,  in  which  he  was 
encouraged  by  a local  physician.  Dr.  William 
Hunter.  In  course  of  time  a Scotch  painter, 
Cosmo  Alexander,  paid  a visit  to  Newport.  He 
was  attracted  by  the  promise  of  talent  in  the  youth, 
who  was  now  eighteen,  gave  him  some  lessons,  and 
invited  his  companionship  in  a journey  back  to 
Scotland,  where  he  placed  him  in  Glasgow  Univer- 
sity. Very  shortly  afterv/ards,  however,  Alexan- 
der died,  and  Stuart,  friendless  and  homesick,  found 
passage  back  to  Newport  on  a collier.  He  con- 

[35] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


tinned  to  progress  in  his  art,  and  was  practising  at 
Boston,  when  the  first  shots  were  fired  at  Lexing- 
ton; whereupon,  his  family  being  of  the  Tory  party, 
he  made  his  way  to  New  York  and  thence  sailed  for 
London.  Not  until  all  his  funds  were  spent  did  he 
make  application  to  West,  who  with  characteristic 
kindness  immediately  befriended  him,  and,  recog- 
nising his  ability,  took  him  into  his  own  house  and 
at  length  engaged  him  as  an  assistant.  But,  al- 
though he  worked  for  eight  years  in  West’s  studio, 
he  was  uninfluenced  by  the  latter’s  point  of  view  or 
method  of  painting. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  of  the  Scotch  and  Welsh 
blood  in  his  veins  that  he  remained  independent  of 
all  the  tendencies  around  him  and  saw  exclusively 
with  his  own  eyes.  In  an  age  of  considerable 
affectation,  when  public  taste  was  largely  moulded 
by  the  drama  and  the  histrionic  feeling  was  reflected 
in  painting,  his  portraits  were  singularly  devoid  of 
any  display.  His  aim  was  to  get  his  sitters  to 
reveal  their  natural  selves,  and  to  put  them  at  their 
ease  he  exercised  his  remarkable  gift  as  a raconteur, 
drawing  freely  from  his  store  of  anecdote  and 
experience.  It  was  the  actual  humanity  of  his  sub- 
ject, the  individual  character  of  the  men  or  women 
before  his  easel,  that  enlisted  his  shrewd  and  sympa- 
thetic interest,  and  in  defence  of  his  frequent  slur- 
ring over  of  the  drapery  parts  of  the  picture  he 
would  say:  ‘‘I  copy  the  works  of  God,  and  leave 

[36] 


AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


clothes  to  the  tailor  and  mantua-maker.”  Yet,  if 
he  felt  the  clothes  to  be  characteristic  of  the  per- 
sonality and  contributory  to  its  expression,  he 
would  bestow  upon  them  the  most  exact  and  lov- 
ing care. 

No  better  example  of  this  could  be  desired  than 
the  Portrait  of  Dr,  Pother  gill  in  his  drab  quaker 
costume.  This  famous  London  physician,  who  had 
been  born  in  Yorkshire  and  educated  in  Edinburgh, 
warmly  sympathised  with  the  American  Colonies 
and  had  espoused  their  cause  in  a pamphlet  entitled 
“ Considerations  Relative  to  the  North  American 
Colonies.”  He  had  associated  himself  very  closely 
with  Franklin,  and  the  latter’s  comment  on  hearing 
of  his  death  was,  “ I can  hardly  conceive  that  a 
better  man  ever  existed.”  In  full  accord  with  the 
elevated  refinement  of  the  doctor’s  personality  are 
the  exquisite  modelling  of  the  face  and  hands  and 
the  delicate  craftsmanship  exhibited  in  the  render- 
ing of  the  wig  and  coat  and  accessories.  This  early 
example  of  Stuart  is  all  the  more  precious  because 
of  the  dissimilarity  which  it  presents  to  his  usual, 
more  vigorous,  and  suggestive  method.  For  what 
distinguishes  him  from  the  famous  English  portrait 
painters  of  his  day  is  the  entire  absence  of  a parti 
pris  in  his  work ; he  does  not  set  out  to  make  a pic- 
ture, but  to  seize  with  certainty  and  directness  the 
actuality  of  the  person  in  front  of  him.  In  doing 
so,  he  was  accustomed  to  concentrate  the  emphasis 

[37] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


on  some  salient  feature.  This  is  particularly  illus- 
trated in  his  famous  portrait  of  Washington, 
known  as  the  Athenceum  Portrait, 

Stuart’s  admiration  for  Washington  had  grown 
into  a passion.  He  was  upon  the  flood  tide  of  suc- 
cess ; “ tasked  himself  with  six  sitters  a day,”  had 
painted  portraits  of  George  III.,  and  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales;  his  position  in  the  fashionable  world  of 
London — and  he  himself  was  a hon  vivant — was  as- 
sured; yet  he  gave  up  all  to  return  to  America, 
impelled  by  his  admiration  of  Washington  and  his 
desire  to  paint  this  man  among  men.  He  reached 
New  York  in  1792,  and  two  years  later  arrived 
in  Philadelphia,  during  the  session  of  Congress, 
to  present  to  Washington  a letter  of  introduction 
from  John  Jay.  Those  were  stirring  times.  The 
Whisky  Boys  ” were  rioting  against  the  tax  on 
liquors ; the  nation  was  in  commotion  over  the  stop- 
page on  the  high  seas  of  American  merchantmen 
by  British  privateers,  and  everywhere  clanged  the 
opposing  arguments  of  Federalists  and  anti-Fed- 
eralists,  of  Republicans  and  Democrats.  Amidst 
the  tumult  of  passion  and  prejudice  reared  the 
strong,  calm  personality  of  Washington.  In  his 
presence  Stuart,  who  had  seen  all  manner  of  men 
from  high  to  low  without  blinking,  confesses  that 
he  lost  his  self-possession.  The  first  attempt  at  a 
portrait  was  a failure;  the  artist  rubbed  it  out; 
the  anecdotes  with  which  he  had  beguiled  other 

[38] 


THE  ATPIENAEUM  PORTRAIT”  OF  WASHINGTON  Gilbert  Stuart 


^yTUART  painted  only  three  portraits  of  Washington  from  life.  The  first 
he  was  dissatisfied  with  and  destroyed;  the  second  is  in  England.  This 
one  came  nearest  to  Stuart’s  conception  of  the  original,  and  in  order  that 
he  might  not  have  to  part  with  it,  he  kept  it  purposely  unfinished. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  Boston 


PORTRAIT  OF  DR.  FOTHERGILL 


Gilbert  Stuart 


N unusual  example  of  the  artist,  since  in  representing  this  Quaker  gentleman  he 
has  painted  the  head  and  the  hands  and  the  accessories  of  the  wig  and  clothes 
with  a minute  regard  for  texture  and  expression. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


men  into  revealing  their  inner  selves  were  of  no 
avail  to  unmask  the  impassive  calm  of  Washing- 
ton. A second  picture  was  begun;  Stuart  had  dis- 
covered that  upon  the  experiences  of  the  late  war 
Washington  would  expand.  He  painted  the  por- 
trait, which  was  presented  to  Lord  Landsdown  and 
is  now  in  England.  It  is  known  as  the  Lansdown 
Portrait,  a full  length,  with  left  hand  on  the  sword- 
hilt  and  the  other  extended.  Still  later,  at  Mrs. 
Washington’s  request,  the  President  gave  another 
sitting,  and  in  1796  the  Athenceum  Portrait  was 
produced.  It  came  nearest  to  Stuart’s  conception 
of  his  subject,  and  he  delayed  to  finish  it,  that  he 
might  not  have  to  part  with  it.  After  his  death 
it  was  sold  by  his  widow,  and  presented  to  the 
Athengeum,  Boston.  It  now  hangs  in  the  Museum 
of  Fine  Arts  in  that  city.  These  three,  the  first 
of  which  was  destroyed  by  the  artist,  were  the 
only  portraits  of  Washington  that  Stuart  made 
from  life.  The  numerous  others  are  either  replicas 
of  these  or  imaginary  portraits,  such  as  the  Wash- 
ington on  Dorchester  Heights, 

While  Peale’s  first  portrait  of  Washington  rep- 
resents him  in  his  prime,  the  Athenceum  shows  him 
in  the  evening  of  life,  when  the  stress  of  day  had 
been  succeeded, by  ample  calm.  It  illustrates  also 
Stuart’s  faculty  for  seizing  on  the  vital,  salient 
features  of  the  subject.  “ There  were,”  he  him- 
self said,  “ features  in  Washington’s  face  totally 

[41] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


different  from  what  I have  observed  in  any  other 
human  being;  the  sockets  of  the  eyes,  for  instance, 
were  larger  than  I ever  met  with  before,  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  nose  broader.  All  his  features 
were  indicative  of  strong  passion,  yet,  like  Socrates, 
his  judgment  and  great  self-command  made  him 
appear  a man  of  different  class  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world.” 

The  colour  of  Washington’s  eyes  was  a light, 
greyish  blue,  but,  according  to  Mr.  Custis,  Stuart 
painted  them  of  a deeper  blue,  saying:  “In 
a hundred  years  they  will  have  faded  to  the  right 
colour.”  The  immobility  of  the  mouth  is  due  to  the 
loss  of  teeth  and  to  the  ill-fitting  substitutes  con- 
structed by  Wilson  Peale. 

In  1794  Stuart  settled  in  Boston,  where  he  con- 
tinued to  reside  until  his  death  in  1828.  His  career 
stands  out  in  the  early  chapter  of  American  paint- 
ing as  a single  unrelated  episode.  He  was  the 
only  American  of  his  day  who  was  in  the  true 
sense  a painter.  Beside  him  Peale  and  even  Cop- 
ley are  still  limners,  enclosing  figures  in  hard  out- 
lines and  laying  on  the  colours  with  tight  and  rigid 
primness,  so  that,  as  we  have  remarked,  there  is 
little  or  no  difference  in  texture  between  the  flesh 
parts  and  the  fabrics,  no  suggestion  of  the  figures 
being  enveloped  in  atmosphere  or  illumined  with 
natural  light,  very  little  also  of  living  movement 
in  gestures  and  poses.  Their  work,  as  compared 

[42] 


AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 


with  Stuart’s,  betrays  the  feeling  of  the  draughts- 
man, who  secures  first  the  exact  form  of  his  objects 
and  then  increases  their  semblance  to  reality  by 
overlaying  colour.  Stuart’s,  on  the  other  hand, 
has  its  origin  in  brushwork,  guided  by  a painter’s 
way  of  seeing  his  subject  as  an  arrangement  of 
coloured  masses,  variously  affected  by  light  and 
atmosphere.  Consequently  his  outlines  are  varied 
— defined,  indefinite,  firm,  or  fluent,  as  they  appear 
in  life;  the  flesh,  solid  and  yet  supple,  glows  with 
light,  its  texture  clearly  differentiated  from  the 
other  textures  in  the  picture;  the  expression  of  the 
faces  is  animated  with  life,  and  the  figures  are  easy 
and  elastic  in  their  poses.  Moreover,  while  Peale 
and  Copley  elaborately  recorded  as  far  as  they 
could  all  that  was  presented  to  the  eye,  Stuart 
summarised  his  impressions  in  a forceful  general- 
isation. 

He  was  unrelated  to  the  conditions  that  preceded 
and  clustered  round  1784,  and  differed  in  the  char- 
acter of  his  achievement  from  any  contemporaries 
either  in  America  or  England.  For,  when  Stuart 
arrived  in  London  he  was  only  twenty  years  old, 
too  young  to  have  been  permanently  affected  by 
the  lack  of  opportunity  in  his  native  country,  and, 
perhaps  because  of  that  blend  of  Scotch  and  Welsh 
blood  in  his  veins,  too  independent  to  be  directly 
influenced  by  West  or  anybody  else.  He  looked 
upon  life  with  his  own  eyes,  and  discovered  for  him- 

[43] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


self  a way  of  seeing  and  representing  what  he  saw. 
The  sum  of  his  work  is  uneven  in  quality,  but  at  its 
best  it  anticipated  the  brilliant  suggestiveness  of 
modern  brushwork. 

For  this  very  reason  one  may  possibly  feel  that 
his  portraits  have  less  of  the  flavour  of  the  period 
than  those  of  Peale  and  Copley  and  his  other 
American  contemporaries.  In  the  light  of  our 
present  study,  which  is  not  to  drag  the  beginnings 
of  American  painting  into  remorseless  comparison 
with  the  finer  achievements  of  our  modern  painters, 
but  to  put  them  back  in  imagination  into  the  scenes 
and  conditions  of  which  they  were  a part,  Stuart’s 
share  in  the  story  may  seem  an  anachronism.  It 
was  admiration  of  Washington  personally  that 
drew  him  back  to  this  country,  not  a zeal  for  re- 
publican ideas,  in  the  furtherance  of  which  he  had 
borne  no  part.  He  did  not  share  in  the  life-spirit 
of  the  nation,  and  it  may  be  suspected  that  his 
portraits  are  more  than  a little  tinctured  with  an 
elegant  cosmopolitanism.  On  the  other  hand,  be- 
fore the  grimly  intellectual  or  austerely  visionary 
faces  of  Smibert’s  New  England  divines,  the  pre- 
cise elegance  and  proud  self-sufficiency  of  Copley’s 
men  and  women  of  the  world,  or  Peale’s  bald  mas- 
culine records  of  the  man  upon  whom  devolved 
the  leadership  of  a new  nation,  we  can  recognise  a 
series  of  types  and  in  our  imagination  reconstruct 

[44] 


AFTER  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  PEACE 

their  environment.  The  very  limitations  of  the 
painters  possess  a value  of  human  and  historical 
interest.  We  may  transport  ourselves  beyond  the 
then  present,  as  the  founders  of  the  nation  did, 
“ and  feel  the  future  in  the  instant.” 


[45] 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 

WHILE  the  struggle  for  independence 
was  proceeding  it  had  little  or  no 
effect  upon  the  story  of  American 
paintmgc  Its  influence  became  apparent  later  in 
the  resultant  growth  of  national  consciousness,  and 
it  is  this  phase  of  the  story  that  occupies  our  pres- 
ent study.  Again  we  will  select  a date  as  a van- 
tage point  from  which  to  obtain  a survey;  and,  as 
in  the  previous  chapters  we  adopted  that  of  1783, 
when  the  first  peace  with  Great  Britain  was  con- 
firmed, so  now  it  shall  be  the  conclusion  of  peace 
in  1815,  after  the  second  War  of  Independence. 

There  are  two  good  reasons  for  the  choice.  In 
the  thirty-one  years  which  had  elapsed,  the  idea  of 
Independence  had  been  fully  realised,  especially 
during  the  three  years  of  the  later  struggle,  when 
the  succession  of  victories  by  sea  and  land  rein- 
forced the  patriotism  of  the  people  with  a new 
sense  of  national  confidence.  Moreover,  out  of 
the  latter  developed  two  new  phases  of  independ- 
ence: the  one  industrial,  which  was  born  immedi- 
ately; the  other,  to  appear  some  twenty  years  later, 
in  its  character  spiritual  or  intellectual. 

[46] 


GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 

The  second  war  was  scarcely  over  before  the 
need  of  industrial  independence  was  felt.  Already, 
while  hostilities  were  proceeding  and  the  cotton  of 
the  South  was  debarred  from  exportation  to  Liver- 
pool, and  the  cotton  and  woollen  goods  of  England 
from  importation  to  this  country,  mills  for  the 
manufacture  of  cotton  and  woollen  goods  had  been 
started  in  New  England.  These,  upon  the  conclu- 
sion of  peace,  when  the  markets  were  glutted  with 
foreign  importations,  found  themselves  threatened 
with  extinction.  The  manufacturers  immediately 
demanded  protection,  and  in  the  following  year  ob- 
tained from  Congress  an  act  establishing  a tariff. 
It  was  the  beginning  of  a new  idea,  that  political 
independence  involved  the  need  of  industrial  inde- 
pendence. Nor  was  it  long  before  the  idea  of 
economic  independence,  originating  in  the  necessi- 
ties of  the  moment,  discovered  its  relation  to  the 
spiritual  and  intellectual  aspirations  of  the  new 
nation.  In  183T,  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  So- 
ciety of  Cambridge,  Emerson  delivered  that  ad- 
dress entitled,  “ The  American  Scholar,’’  which  was 
hailed  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  as  “ Our  Intel- 
lectual Declaration  of  Independence.”  In  it 
Emerson  sounded  a new  note.  “ Our  day  of  de- 
pendence,” he  said,  “ our  long  apprenticeship  to  the 
learning  of  other  lands,  draws  to  a close.  The 
millions  that  around  us  are  rushing  into  life  can- 
not always  be  fed  on  the  sere  remains  of  foreign 

[47] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


harvests.  Events,  actions  arise,  that  must  be  sung, 
that  will  sing  themselves.” 

The  utterance  represents  a singular  combination 
of  fallacy  and  truth.  For  in  the  kingdom  of 
thought,  wherein  Emerson  himself  dwells  and  of 
which  painting  is  a province,  there  are  no  bound- 
aries of  oceans  or  continents,  no  disabilities  of  de- 
pendence or  alienshij),  but  a community  of  free 
intercourse.  Before  another  generation  had  passed 
away  Americans  would  realise  the  need  of  this 
and  begin  to  take  full  advantage  of  it.  Mean- 
while, in  their  pertinence  to  the  conditions  of  the 
time  in  which  they  were  spoken,  those  were  true 
words. 

For,  by  the  wars  with  England  and  the  restora- 
tion of  the  monarchy  in  France,  this  country  was 
isolated.  Moreover,  the  problems  before  it,  politi- 
cal, industrial,  and  educational,  were  peculiar  to  it- 
self and  to  be  wrought  out  only  by  self-reliance. 
So  this  utterance  had  all  the  power  of  an  exhorta- 
tion and  all  the  encouragement  of  a prophecy. 
For  the  time  being,  too,  its  application  to  painting 
rang  true;  for  the  feet  of  the  painters  of  this  period 
were  turned  toward  Rome,  and  the  decadent  art  of 
Italy,  whence  certainly  was  to  be  derived  no  source 
of  strength  for  our  infant  art. 

This  new  spirit  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  in- 
dependence and  that  other  of  economic  independ- 
ence, accompanied  by  so  marvellous  a territorial 

[48] 


GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT, 

expansion,  were  reflected,  as  we  shall  see,  in  the 
growth  of  an  American  school  of  landscape  paint- 
ing. Meanwhile,  before  considering  it,  we  must 
look  back  from  our  vantage  point  and  attach  the 
new  phase  of  our  story  to  the  preceding  one.  The 
connecting  link  is  John  Trumbull. 

Born  in  1756,  in  Lebanon,  Connecticut,  a son 
of  the  Colonial  Governor  of  that  State,  he  was 
twenty  years  old  when  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence was  signed.  A graduate  of  Harvard 
University,  he  had  been  influenced  by  the  portraits 
of  Smibert  and  Copley,  and  was  already  learning 
to  become  a painter  when  the  War  of  the  Revo- 
lution began.  Immediately  he  joined  the  army, 
and,  his  skiU  in  drawing  being  noted  by  Washing- 
ton, he  was  set  to  making  plans  of  the  enemy’s 
works.  From  this  he  was  promoted  to  a position 
upon  the  general  staff,  with  the  rank  of  brigadier- 
major,  and  subsequently  served  as  colonel  under 
Gates.  But  aggrieved  at  the  date  which  Congress 
assigned  to  his  commission,  he  resigned  from  the 
army,  made  his  way  to  France,  whence  he  pro- 
ceeded to  England,  and  under  West  recommenced 
the  study  of  painting.  The  execution  of  Major 
Andre,  however,  had  aroused  in  England  a spirit 
of  retaliation,  and  Trumbull  was  arrested  and  im- 
prisoned as  a spy.  The  intercession  of  West  saved 
his  life,  and  after  eight  months’  imprisonment  se- 

[49] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


cured  his  release,  on  condition  that  he  leave  the 
country.  When  peace  was  established,  however, 
he  went  again  to  England  and  continued  his  stud- 
ies with  West,  not  returning  to  the  United  States 
until  1789. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  his  qualifications  as  a 
painter  were  not  commensurate  with  the  scope  of 
his  ideals.  Moreover,  he  approached  his  subject 
from  the  patriot’s  rather  than  the  painter’s  point 
of  view.  He  was  filled  with  the  seriousness  of 
his  time,  with  the  sense  of  responsibility  to  the 
grave  issues  through  which  the  young  nation  was 
progressing,  moreover,  with  that  self-consciousness 
of  the  part  which  it  behooved  a patriot  to  play. 
His  nearness  to  the  great  events  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  view  them  apart  from  their  political 
significance  and  to  regard  them,  as  a painter 
should,  principally  as  an  opportunity  for  a painter- 
like presentation.  Further,  the  very  temper  of  the 
time  was  antagonistic  to  any  other  view  than  the 
immense  importance  of  the  facts  as  facts,  and 
nothing  he  could  have  learned  from  West  tended 
to  modify  this  unpainter-like  point  of  view.  For 
upon  the  point  of  view  from  which  a painter  ap- 
proaches the  subject  of  a historical  painting,  hinges 
the  whole  matter. 

It  may  appear  to  some  a hard  saying  that  paint- 
ing is  a vehicle  of  doubtful  suitability  for  the  com- 
memoration of  great  historical  events,  such  as  the 

[50] 


PORTRAIT  OF  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON  Johx  Trumbull 


CONSIDERED  one  of  the  painter  s best  portraits.  It  was  painted  not  from  life,  hut  from 
a bust  by  Ceraccki. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


a a :s 


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Sr:<a  S 
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r 


GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 


Battles  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Trenton,  which  among 
others  Trumbull  essayed  to  picture;  still  more  hard, 
that  patriotism,  so  far  from  being  a stimulus  to 
the  painter  in  his  art,  may  be  a cause  of  weakness. 
But  look  at  the  illustration  here  reproduced  of 
Trumbull’s  picture  of  the  Battle  of  Bunker  Hilk 
and  ask  yourself  if  the  eff  ect  it  produces  upon  your 
imagination  is  in  any  way  comparable  to,  say,  that 
of  Longfellow’s  poem,  “ Paul  Revere’s  Ride.”  If 
it  is  not,  what  is  the  reason? 

We  have  already  noted  one  reason,  in  the  paint- 
er’s preoccupation  with  accuracy  of  facts,  so  that 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion  is  ungrasped.  There  is 
another;  that  the  poet  had  the  advantage  because 
his  medium  was  words,  by  the  sound  and  rhythm 
of  which,  as  well  as  by  their  meaning,  he  could 
present  picture  after  picture  to  our  imagination, 
kindling  it  more  and  more  by  each  successive  ap- 
peal to  our  emotions,  until  we  seem  to  hear  the  very 
clang  of  the  horse’s  hoof,  its  laboured  panting,  and 
the  heavy  breathing  of  its  rider;  see  the  startled 
faces  appearing  at  the  windows,  as  each  quiet  vil- 
lage is  awoke,  and  feel  the  torrent  of  patriotic  ar- 
dour that  swept  through  the  country-side  on  that 
fateful  night.  It  is  conceivable  that  a painter 
might  paint  a picture  of  this  incident  which  should 
move  us  as  much  as  the  poem  does.  But  recognise 
at  the  outset  the  odds  against  him.  Instead  of  the 
impetuous  variety  of  words  and  tramp  and  rhythm 

[53] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


of  the  lines,  he  must  fix  on  some  one  action  of  horse 
and  rider;  instead  of  villages  flying  past,  some  one 
set  scene  for  a background;  instead  of  a gradual 
working  up  of  fervour  to  a point  of  culmination, 
some  one  fixed,  first  and  final,  display.  If  he  does, 
after  all,  succeed  in  awakening  our  emotions,  it 
will  not  be  through  his  restricted  array  of  facts 
so  much  as  through  some  suggestion  to  the  imag- 
ination, by  means  of  the  impressiveness  of  the  pic- 
ture’s composition  and  of  its  colour  and  light  and 
shade.  In  a word,  not  by  accuracy  of  detail  or 
emulating  the  artifices  of  the  stage  manager,  but 
because  of  the  painter’s  reliance  upon  those  quali- 
ties which  are  peculiar  to  his  own  craft. 

That  the  first  requisite  of  a picture  should  be 
to  have  pictorial  qualities,  that  is  to  say,  that  it 
should  embody  a subject  which  can  be  more  vitally 
expressed  in  paint  than  in  any  other  medium,  and 
should  be  so  treated  as  to  bring  out  to  its  full  possi- 
bilities the  craft  of  the  painter,  would  never  have 
occurred  to  Trumbull,  any  more  than  it  did  to 
West,  or,  for  that  matter,  to  Reynolds.  The  latter, 
fortunately  for  his  subsequent  reputation,  was  held 
by  his  public  almost  exclusively  to  portraits,  other- 
wise he  would  have  squandered  his  talent,  as  more 
than  once  he  did,  over  ambitious  canvases  based  on 
mythological,  historical,  or  religious  themes.  For 
the  eighteenth  century  in  England  was  character- 
ised by  the  growth  of  English  prose,  culminating 

[54] 


GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 


in  enthusiasm  for  oratory  and  stage  representa- 
tions. It  was  a period  of  triumph  for  the  written 
and  spoken  word,  especially  for  the  latter,  and  the 
ambition  of  the  painter  was  to  emulate  this  tri- 
umph in  his  pictures.  Similar  conditions  prevailed 
in  this  country,  and  even  in  a heightened  form, 
owing  to  the  stimulus  of  national  events.  Consider 
the  hold  which  the  phraseology  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  still  has  upon  the  imagination, 
and  how  much  more  powerfully  it  must  have  pos- 
sessed those  who  had  witnessed  the  realisation  of  its 
( 

principles.  Its  phrases,  familiar  and  oft  repeated, 
gave  an  impetus  to  the  worship  of  the  written  and 
spoken  word  that  has  continued  to  our  own  day, 
and  it  is  a fact  to  be  noted  that  the  first  genuine 
art  expression  of  the  new  nation  was  not  in  the 
form  of  painting  or  sculpture,  but  of  literature 
and  oratory. 

That  Trumbull  recognised  the  power  of  the 
word  is  illustrated  amusingly  in  one  of  his  letters. 
It  was  addressed  to  his  agent  in  Washington, 
through  whom  he  was  expecting  to  make  sales  of 
the  engravings  of  his  pictures.  Apparently,  the 
results  were  not  satisfactory,  for  he  urges  his  cor- 
respondent to  go  about  among  the  Senators  and 
Congressmen,  and  talk,  talk,  talk.  “You  must 
remember,”  he  adds,  “ that  we  are  living  under  a 
logocrajcyy  * 

* Word-government,  or  government  of  the  word. 

[55] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


His  attitude  toward  painting  may  be  gathered 
from  another  of  his  letters: 

“ I am  fully  sensible/’  he  wrote,  “ that  the  pro- 
fession [of  painting],  as  it  is  generally  practised, 
is  frivolous,  little  useful  to  society,  and  unworthy 
a man  who  has  talents  for  more  serious  pursuits. 
But  to  preserve  and  diffuse  the  memory  of  the 
noblest  series  of  actions  which  have  ever  presented 
themselves  in  the  history  of  man,  is  sufficient  war- 
rant for  it/’ 

Thus,  his  highest  conception  of  a painter  was 
to  be  a historian  in  paint;  and  his  pictures  illus- 
trate it. 

Very  different  from  this  practical  man  of  affairs 
who  practised  painting,  was  his  contemporary, 
Washington  Allston.  The  latter  in  one  of  his 
letters  describes  his  sensations  in  presence  of  the 
works  of  the  Venetian  colourists,  Titian,  Paul 
Veronese,  and  Tintoretto.  He  tells  how  the  magic 
of  the  colouring  affected  him  irrespective  of  the 
subjects;  that  he  recognised  in  it  an  abstract  lan- 
guage, comparable  to  that  of  music.  In  a word,  he 
acknowledged  the  independence  of  painting  as  a 
medium  of  expression;  and,  idealist,  dreamer,  ro- 
manticist, that  he  was  by  nature,  had  most  of  the 
qualifications  that  distinguished  the  great  roman- 
tic painter,  Delacroix.  But  he  lacked  the  capacity 
of  the  latter  to  keep  himself  detached  from  the 

[56] 


A SPANISH  GIRL 


Washington  Allston 


artist  was  never  in  Spain.  The  picture  in  its  sentimental  aloofness  from  any  reality 
JB  ^f  is  characteristic  of  the  period  in  which  it  was  painted. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


THE  DEAD  MAX  RESTORED  TO  LIFE 


Washixgtox  Allstox 


CLEVER  composition,  elaborated  on  artistic-scientific  lines,  therefore  lackinq 
in  spontaneity  and  in  the  suggestion  of  being  the  record  of  an  actual  scene. 
In  the  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 


literary  alliance,  while  yet  drawing  from  literature 
his  inspiration.  It  was  the  tragedy  of  Allston’s 
life  that  he  was  subservient  to  the  dominion  of  the 
word;  moreover,  he  was  a man  of  frail  physique, 
whose  ideas  outstripped  his  strength. 

An  exception  to  the  rule  that  the  South,  while 
patronising  art,  did  not  produce  artists,  he  was  of 
good  Southern  family,  born  at  Waccamaw,  South 
Carolina,  in  1779.  At  seven  years  old,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  frailty  of  his  constitution,  he  was 
sent  to  the  more  bracing  climate  of  Newport, 
Rhode  Island,  where  his  school  days  were  passed  in 
the  companionship  of  Edward  S.  Malbone.  The 
latter,  a native  of  Newport,  two  years  his  senior, 
had  early  displayed  that  skill  in  drawing  which 
resulted  in  his  becoming  an  excellent  miniature 
painter,  and  his  example  confirmed  the  young  All- 
ston’s  own  taste  for  drawing.  Also  there  was  much 
in  the  latter’s  gentle  nature,  with  its  love  for  the 
marvellous  and  the  poetic,  that  fitted  in  with  the 
refined  abstraction  of  Malbone’s  disposition.  The 
result  was  an  ardent  friendship  between  them,  that 
continued  while  Allston  was  studying  at  Harvard 
and  the  older  youth  was  working  as  a portrait 
painter  in  Boston.  His  college  days  over,  Allston 
returned  to  South  Carolina  and  found  Malbone 
successfully  engaged  in  Charleston,  and  the  two 
planned  a visit  to  England;  Allston,  with  charac- 
teristic imprudence,  disposing  of  his  share  in  the 

[59] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


family  estate  for  a small  sum  of  ready  cash.  They 
were  together  in  London  for  a few  months,  and 
there  Malbone  painted  The  Hours,  three  girl  fig- 
ures representing  the  Past,  Present,  and  Future, 
circling  in  a dance,  which  is  regarded  as  his  most 
important  work.  Then  the  companionship  ended, 
for  Malhorie  returned  home,  and  six  years  later, 
after  a vain  attempt  to  restore  his  shattered  health 
by  a voyage  to  Jamaica,  died  at  Savannah  in  1807. 

During  four  years’  sojourn  in  Rome,  where,  in 
companionship  with  Vanderlyn,  Allston  enjoyed 
the  intimacy  of  many  famous  men,  among  others 
of  Keats,  Shelley,  Byron,  Hans  Anderson,  Wash- 
ington Irving,  and  Turner,  he  came  under  the  spell 
of  Raphael,  ‘‘the  greatest  master,”  as  he  put  it, 
“ of  the  affections  in  our  art,”  and  of  Michelan- 
gelo, “ of  whom  I know  not  how  to  speak  in  ade- 
quate terms  of  reverence— even  Raphael  bows 
before  him.”  The  grace  of  the  one  may  well  have 
been  dangerously  seductive;  the  terrific  power  of 
the  other,  engulfing  to  a young  man  whose  instruc- 
tion in  the  actual  rudiments  of  his  art  had  been  so 
limited,  and  whose  mind  was  already  apt  to  be 
overoccupied  with  reverie  and  contemplation. 
One  result  of  his  Italian  experience,  therefore,  was 
to  direct  his  thoughts  to  conceptions  beyond  his 
ability  and  strength  to  body  forth,  many  of  them 
more  adapted  to  poetic  than  to  pictorial  expres- 
sion. He  left  numerous  drawings  of  studies  for 

[60] 


:>ORTRAIT  OF  THE  ARTIST  John  Vanderlvn 

In  the  Colleetion  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


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GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 


his  pictures,  in  which  the  sesthetic  intention  shines 
forth  spontaneously  and  clearly,  whereas  in  the 
finished  work  it  became  laboured  over  and  obscured. 
Thus  in  the  Dead  Man  Restored  to  Life  (by  touch- 
ing Elijah’s  bones  as  he  was  being  buried),  not- 
withstanding the  general  handsomeness  of  the 
composition,  there  is  evidence  of  a laboured  piecing 
together  of  its  several  parts,  so  that  the  total  effect 
is  rather  one  of  pose  and  artifice,  reminiscent  of 
the  mechanics  of  the  Italian  “ grand  style,”  but 
without  that  comprehending  grasp  which  welds  all 
into  an  appearance  of  having  grown  into  being, 
spontaneously  and  inevitably. 

Allston  married  a sister  of  the  celebrated  divine. 
Dr.  Channing,  and  settled  in  Cambridge,  Massa- 
chusetts, where  he  lived  a life  of  very  beautiful 
seclusion  in  the  society  of  a few  choice  friends. 
Twenty-six  years  before  his  death  he  had  made 
what  he  called  “ a highly  finished  sketch  ” of  a very 
large  picture,  Belshazzar's  Feast,  He  had  been 
still  working  over  the  unfinished  canvas  on  the  day 
that  he  died,  in  1843.  It  remained  a pathetic  memo- 
rial to  the  magnitude  of  his  ideals  and  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  his  personal  accomplishment. 

To  this  early  period  of  the  Republic  belongs 
another  notable  name,  associated  also  with  promise 
only  partially  realised,  that  of  John  Vanderlyn. 
Though  he  painted  many  excellent  portraits,  his 

[6S] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


fame  rests  chiefly  on  two  pictures,  Marius  Among 
the  Ruins  of  Carthage^  and  the  nude  figure  of 
Ariadne,  Born  in  Kingston,  New  Y ork,  in  1776,  he 
worked  as  a boy  with  a local  blacksmith.  His 
brother  was  established  in  New  York  as  a physician, 
and  through  his  influence  and  that  of  Aaron  Burr 
Vanderlyn  studied  under  Stuart,  and  then,  with 
his  patron’s  help,  paid  a visit  to  Paris.  He 
revisited  that  city  in  1803,  when  he  became  intimate 
with  Allston,  the  two  friends  later,  as  we  have 
seen,  living  together  in  Rome.  It  was  there  that 
he  painted  the  two  pictures  mentioned  above.  The 
Marius  was  shown  at  the  Paris  Salon  of  1808, 
where  it  attracted  the  notice  of  Napoleon,  who  per- 
sonally selected  it  for  one  of  his  gold  medals.  The 
Ariadne  is  in  the  old-fashioned  style  of  painting 
of  that  period,  being  neither  a study  of  life  such 
as  we  are  accustomed  to  to-day  nor  invested  with 
that  quality  of  abstract  beauty  that  characterises 
the  work  of  the  Italian  masters,  on  which  it  was 
modelled.  It  is,  however,  a picture  of  considerable 
distinction,  both  in  drawing  and  colour. 

Though  an  early  work,  it  was  nevertheless  the 
last  of  Vanderlyn’s  notable  achievements.  Whether 
it  were  a fact  that  he  was  an  instance,  and  there 
are  many  in  painting,  of  quickly  reached  maturity 
as  quickly  exhausted,  or  that  the  times  in  America 
were  not  yet  ripe  for  works  of  imagination,  or  that 
the  slowness  with  which  he  painted  interfered  with 

[64] 


GROWTH  OF  THE  NATIONAL  SPIRIT 


his  popularity  as  a portrait  painter,  certain  it  is 
that  Vanderlyn  became  an  unsuccessful  and  disap- 
pointed man.  One  day,  in  1852,  he  reappeared  at 
Kingston  and  borrowed  a shilling  of  a friend  to 
pay  for  the  transportation  of  his  baggage  to  the 
hotel.  Arrived  there,  he  retired  to  his  room,  and 
the  following  morning  was  found  dead.  The  brief 
vitalising  influence  of  his  career,  as  of  Allston’s, 
had  been  the  “ grand  style  ” of  Italian  art.  In 
Vanderlyn’s  unfulfilled  promise,  in  Allston’s  later 
years  as  he  sat  in  front  of  his  never-to-be-finished 
picture,  impotently  trying  to  re-enact  the  miracle 
of  the  dead  restored  to  life,  and  to  make  the  pres- 
ent live  by  contact  with  the  dead  bones  of  the  past, 
there  is  a deep  pathos.  Both  looked  backward, 
while  all  the  energy  of  their  countrymen  and  of 
their  time  was  bent  in  a direction  forward.  They 
were  also  by  instinct  cosmopolitan  and  aloof  from 
the  spirit  of  independent  nationalism,  which  had 
became  the  guiding  influence  of  their  contem- 
poraries. Meanwhile  this  spirit,  encouraged  by 
Emerson,  had  inspired  a group  of  painters,  who 
are  remembered  as  the  “ Hudson  River  School.” 


[65] 


CHAPTER  IV 


A NATIVE  GROWTH  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 

The  most  direct  outcome  of  the  develop- 
ment of  a national  spirit  was  the  appear- 
ance of  the  so-called  “ Hudson  River 
School.”  It  was  a title  given  to  a group  of  land- 
scape painters  who  began  by  working  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Hudson.  It  is  customary  to  speak 
of  these  men  disparagingly  because  they  did  not 
paint  as  well  as  the  majority  of  modern  painters. 
They  should,  however,  be  honoured,  despite  their 
technical  deficiencies,  for  the  motive  and  manner 
of  their  inspiration. 

In  the  first  place,  they  went  to  nature  for  their 
motive,  and,  secondly,  they  studied  it  in  that  love 
and  pride  of  American  conditions  which,  outside 
of  painting,  characterised  their  age.  They  were 
the  first  of  American  painters  to  give  expression  to 
the  prevailing  spirit  of  nationalism. 

While  the  earliest  of  these  landscape  painters 
was  Thomas  Doughty,  the  one  who  gave  the  im- 
petus to  the  new  movement  and  helped  most  to 
make  it  popular  was  Thomas  Cole.  In  a sense  also 

[66] 


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ac,  ^ 


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In  the  Collection  of  the  New  York  Historical  Society 


THE  EXPULSION  FROM  PARADISE  Thotmas  Cole 


GROWTH  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 


he  was  a link  between  the  new  enthusiasm  for 
nature-study  and  the  older  predilection  for  his- 
torical and  “ grand  style  ” subjects,  since  in  those 
pictures  which  his  contemporaries  particularly 
applauded — Expulsion  from  Paradise ^ and  the  two 
series  respectively  called  The  Course  of  Empire 
and  The  Voyage  of  Life — ^he  was  not  satisfied  to 
depict  nature  for  its  own  sake,  but  made  it  the 
vehicle  for  moral  allegories.  The  public  recognised 
in  them  what  it  had  already  appreciated  in  Bry- 
ant’s “ Thanatopsis  ” — the  introduction  of  nature 
as  a setting  for  elevated  sentiments.  But  Cole’s 
more  enduring  claim  to  be  remembered  consists  in 
his  having  aroused  an  appreciation  of  the  picto- 
rial possibilities  of  the  Catskills,  and  of  American 
landscape  in  general. 

He  was  born  in  England  in  1801,  and  when 
nineteen  years  old  accompanied  his  family  to  this 
country,  his  father,  a wallpaper-maker,  settling  in 
Steubenville,  Ohio.  But  the  son  was  of  a wander- 
ing disposition,  and  his  roamings  led  him  far- 
ther and  farther  afield,  until  at  length  he  reached 
Philadelphia,  and  in  the  Academy  had  the  first 
chance  of  studying  pictures.  Meanwhile  it  was 
nature  that  prompted  his  own  desire  to  paint,  and 
when  he  finally  arrived  in  New  York  it  was  with 
a number  of  studies  made  in  the  Catskills  and  along 
the  Hudson.  These  came  to  the  notice  of  Trum- 
bull and  Durand,  who  saw  in  them  the  beginnings 

[69] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


of  a new  development  of  native  art.  They  were 
exhibited;  Bryant  among  others  praised  them; 
some  found  purchasers,  and  Cole’s  successful  career 
was  started.  He  made  visits  to  England,  France, 
and  Italy,  and  his  pictures  appeared  in  the  Royal 
Academy.  But,  though  he  made  his  permanent 
home  near  the  village  of  Catskill,  close  to  some  of 
the  most  beautiful  scenery  of  what  he  called  his 
“ dear  Catskills,”  his  love  of  nature,  pure  and  sim- 
ple, became  confused  with  other  motives.  Possess- 
ing a religious  and  romantic  temperament,  a stu- 
dent of  Bunyan  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  he  yielded 
to  the  stronger  influences  of  the  time,  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  were  literary,  didactic,  and  oratori- 
cal, rather  than  pictorial.  In  The  Eoopulsion  from 
Paradise,  for  example,  we  miss  the  note  of  nature- 
study;  the  landscape  has  been  compiled;  while  in 
Destruction,  number  four  of  his  Course  of  Em- 
pire, he  has  emulated  the  artifices  by  which  Claude 
built  up  his  imaginary  scenes  of  classic  grandeur; 
only,  unlike  the  Frenchman,  whose  artistic  instinct 
kept  him  to  the  sole  motive  of  a beautiful  picture 
in  which  the  figures  count  simply  as  spots  of  anima- 
tion, Cole,  with  no  skill  of  figure-drawing,  has 
made  these  puppets  the  main  actors  in  the  great 
spectacle.  The  total  effect  is  in  consequence  bom- 
bastic and  the  details  pitifully  weak. 

Yet,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was  not  the  first  Ameri- 
[T'O] 


GROWTH  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 


can  landscape  painter.  This  title  belongs  to 
Thomas  Doughty  (1793-1856),  who  had  been 
painting  from  nature  for  five  years  before  Cole’s 
appearance  in  New  York.  His  work,  like  that  of 
Asher  B.  Durand  (1796-1886)  and  J.  F.  Kensett 
(1818-1872),  breathes  the  true  spirit  of  what  the 
French  call  the  paysage  intime^  that  love  of  the 
simple  country-side,  of  nature  for  its  own  sake, 
which  characterises  the  pictures  of  the  Barbizon 
School  and  of  their  forerunner,  Constable.  These 
paintings  of  the  Hudson  Valley  had  in  them  the 
true  stuff  that  has  made  landscape  painting  the 
sincerest  form  of  modern  expression;  what  they 
lacked  was  skill  in  the  craftsmanship  of  painting 
and  the  painter’s  point  of  view.  These  men  looked 
on  nature  with  an  eye  at  once  too  niggling  and  too 
comprehensive. 

In  the  first  place,  for  example,  the  landscape  by 
Durand,  reproduced  here,  is  too  big  in  size  and  too 
extensive  in  subject  to  be  embraced  by  a single 
vision.  The  eye  wanders  over  it,  as  it  would  in 
presence  of  the  original  scene,  receiving  a number 
of  enjoyable  impressions,  but  no  impression  of 
unity  and  completeness.  Lacking  these  qualities, 
which  are  the  result  of  selection,  simplification,  and 
organic  arrangement,  the  subject  is  not  so  much 
pictorial  as  panoramic  and  topographical.  It  rep- 
resents the  ordinary  way  of  looking  at  a landscape 
rather  than  the  artist’s  way.  In  the  second  place, 

[71] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


there  is  an  absence  of  synthesis,  that  is  to  say,  of 
a summarising  of  essentials,  in  the  actual  represen- 
tation of  the  details.  A uniformly  patient  and 
conscientious  putting  together  of  little  effects  is 
spread  like  a network  over  the  whole;  the  painter 
has  not  grasped  the  salient  characteristics  of  the 
whole  or  its  parts,  has  not  enforced  these  and  sub- 
ordinated the  rest.  The  result  is,  that  his  trees 
and  mountains  do  not  assert  themselves  as  masses, 
but  invite  attention  to  the  infinite,  niggling  strokes 
of  which  they  are  composed,*  and  this  is  partly  the 
cause  and  partly  the  effect  of  the  w’^ay  in  which 
the  brush  was  handled. 

In  some  parts  it  has  spread  a thin  tint  over  the 
canvas,  in  others  worked  like  a pencil  point;  no- 
where with  the  breadth  and  fulness  and  firmness 
that  distinguish  the  methods  of  the  real  painter. 
We  recall  the  fact  that  Durand,  until  his  thirty- 
ninth  year,  was  only  an  engraver,  a very  skilful 
one,  and  it  is  the  engraver’s  rather  than  the  paint- 
er’s feeling  which  is  evident  throughout  the  canvas. 
Kensett  also  began  life  as  an  engraver,  and  his 
landscapes  equally  betray  the  fact.  But  the  previ- 
ous occupation  of  these  men  was  not  the  only 

* This  lack  of  synthesis  is  much  less  apparent  in  the  small 
reproduction  than  in  the  larger  original,  because  the  photo- 
graph and  the  subsequent  half-tone  process  of  reproducing 
it  have  tended  to  compress  the  details  into  masses  of  tone, 
and  have,  in  a way,  effected  a synthesis. 

[72] 


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GROWTH  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 


reason  for  this  lack  of  painter-like  quality  in  their 
work.  With  the  sole  exception  of  Stuart,  no 
painter  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term  had  appeared 
in  America.  It  was  not  until  later,  when  Ameri- 
cans came  in  touch  with  the  Barbizon  men  and 
learned  from  them  how  to  look  at  nature,  how  to 
select  from  it  and  compose  the  essentials  into  a 
picture,  and  how  to  paint  with  a full,  firm  brush 
in  masses,  that  landscape  painting,  as  distinct  from 
mere  representation  of  landscape,  commenced  in 
this  country. 

Meanwhile  it  is  very  cheap  criticism  to  decry 
these  men  of  the  Hudson  River  School  for  their 
lack  of  technical  ability.  Rather  should  they  be 
remembered  as  the  leaders  among  us  in  that  return 
to  nature  which,  unknown  to  them,  had  also  led 
Rousseau  and  his  followers  to  Barbizon,  and  was 
to  become  in  literature  and  painting  the  strong, 
distinctive  characteristic  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Nor  should  it  be  overlooked  how  closely  in  our  own 
country  the  movement  was  related  to  the  general 
trend  of  thought  and  action.  While  Cole  with  his 
palette  and  brushes  retraversed  the  ground  that 
Washington  Irving  had  made  famous  with  his  pen, 
and  his  landscapes  embodied  the  elevated  senti- 
ment of  Bryant’s  poetry  and  the  mystery  and  vast- 
ness of  Cooper’s  descriptions  of  nature,  the  work 
of  all  these  painters  refiected  and  contributed  to  the 
love  and  pride  of  their  own  country  which  was 

[75] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


filling  high  with  hope  and  certainty  the  heart  of  the 
nation. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  careers  of  these  men 
of  the  Hudson  River  School  lasted  far  on  into  the 
century.  Accordingly,  we  may  as  well  shake  our- 
selves free  from  the  shackles  of  chronology  for  a 
little  while,  and  complete  this  portion  of  our  story. 

The  simple  study  of  nature,  begun  by  Doughty, 
Durand,  and  Kensett,  was  carried  on  by  the  two 
brothers,  William  and  James  McDougal  Hart. 
Both  were  born  in  Scotland,  the  former  in  1823, 
the  latter  in  1828,  and  were  brought  to  this  country 
in  1831,  their  family  settling  in  Albany.  Here, 
as  they  grew  up,  they  were  apprenticed  to  a coach- 
maker,  and  gained  their  first  experience  as  paint- 
ers in  decorating  carriages.  William  Hart  by  self- 
instruction  graduated  from  carriage  panels  to  can- 
vases, working  first  on  portraits,  later  on  land- 
scapes. He  passed  on  his  experience  to  his  younger 
brother,  who  also  studied  under  Schirmer  at 
Diisseldorf. 

This  was  in  1851,  the  year  in  which  Leutze  re- 
turned to  America,  after  studying  in  the  same 
school;  and  Hart  may  have  been  influenced  by  him 
to  go  thither,  as  certainly  other  students  were. 
Indeed,  for  a short  time  during  the  middle  of  the 
century  Diisseldorf  represented  to  American  stu- 
dents the  goal  of  their  desires,  just  as  Paris  does 
to-day;  and  the  fact  was  not  without  influence 

[76] 


GROWTH  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 


upon  our  painting.  For  Schirmer  himself  was  a 
tame  and  sentimental  painter,  and  the  whole  ten- 
dency of  the  school  was  toward  a trivial  exactitude 
of  method  and  a banality  of  motive;  both  seen 
most  characteristically  in  the  sentimental  genre 
pictures  of  lovely  and  virtuous  peasantry.  A 
great  many  such  pictures  found  their  way  to  Amer- 
ica, and,  of  course,  because  of  their  representing  a 
little  anecdote  or  story,  were  popular  with  a public 
that  was  still  very  much  under  the  dominion  of  the 
Word  and  not  yet  trained  to  an  appreciation  of  a 
painting  as  a painting.  So,  indirectly  on  public 
taste,  and  directly  on  a considerable  number  of 
painters,  the  influence  of  the  Diisseldorf  school  was 
unfortunate. 

Hart,  however,  lived  it  down,  gaining  with  ex- 
perience more  freedom  of  brushwork  and  develop- 
ing a charming  resourcefulness  in  colour.  Nor  was 
he  touched  by  the  sentimentality  of  the  school.  His 
landscapes,  like  his  brother’s  and  those  of  the  other 
painters  of  the  Hudson  River  School,  represent  as 
frank  and  sincere  a delight  in  the  lovable  aspects 
of  nature  as  one  can  imagine.  It  is,  however,  a 
purely  objective  one;  and  this  fact,  I think,  is  very 
interesting.  It  is  not  until  later,  when  our  paint- 
ers shall  have  come  under  the  influence  of  the  Bar- 
bizon  group,  that  they  will  begin  to  concern  them- 
selves with  the  moods  of  nature,  the  reflection  in 
the  latter  of  their  own  moods.  This  consciousness 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


of  self  and  need  of  self-expression  represent  an 
older,  if  not  necessarily  a maturer,  habit  of  mind — 
a product  of  the  effort  everywhere  to  realise  and 
emphasise  the  individual.  But,  as  yet,  our  early 
painters  had  not  begun  to  think  of  themselves  as 
individuals;  like  the  rest  of  the  community,  they 
were  engaged  for  the  present  in  building  up  a 
nation;  it  was  the  spirit  of  nationality  that  fired 
them  and  found  its  natural  expression  in  love  of 
country  and  in  love  of  nature  as  its  embodiment. 
So  their  attitude  tow^ard  it  was  that  of  the  child, 
frankly  delighting  in  the  beauty  of  the  thing 
spread  out  before  their  eyes. 

By  degrees,  as  the  country  was  opened  up  and 
the  wonders  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  were  un- 
folded, the  painter’s  imagination,  like  that  of  his 
fellows,  became  stimulated  and  his  ideal  expanded. 
He  turned  from  the  simple  surroundings  of  the 
homestead  to  the  miracles  of  nature,  and  began  to 
be  affected  by  the  prevailing  enthusiasm  for  “the 
biggest  thing  on  earth.”  It  was  the  grandest  and 
most  tremendously  impressive  manifestations  of 
nature,  demanding  large  canvases,  which  now  at- 
tracted such  men  as  F.  E.  Church,  Thomas  Moran, 
and  Albert  Bierstadt;  and,  a thing  to  be  noted, 
this  preoccupation  with  the  grandiose,  which  had 
begun  in  an  awakened  pride  of  country,  led  to  the 
pursuit  of  bigness  for  its  own  sake.  Church 
sought  his  subjects  from  South  America  to  Lab- 

[78] 


YOSEMITE  VALLEY  Aj.bert  Bieustadt 

‘W'  ^HILE  Bierstadt  was  the  first  to  introduce  into  this  country  the  infiuence  of  Bitsseldorf,  he  followed  Church  in  his  fondness 
for  the  grandiose  in  nature.  His  better  examples.,  such  as  the  present  one.,  very  cleverly  represent  the  facts  of  the  scene.,  hut 
with  a uniform  precision  of  detail  that  becomes  monotonous. 

In  the  Lenox  Collection  of  the  New  York  Public  Library 


GROWTH  OF  LANDSCAPE  PAINTING 


rador;  Bierstadt  and  Thomas  Moran  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  But  how  thoroughly  these  men  be- 
longed to  their  age  is  proved  by  the  enthusiasm 
which  their  work  aroused  in  the  public. 

Bierstadt,  of  German  origin  and  with  a Ger- 
man’s passion  for  the  romantic,  had  the  faculty 
of  possessing  himself  with  the  spirit  of  the  scene. 
Moreover,  although  his  method  of  painting  was 
hard  and  sleek — owing  to  his  Diisseldorf  training — 
his  draughtsmanship  was  excellent.  One  may  see 
in  the  accompanying  illustration  of  Yosemite  Val- 
ley what  a power  he  had  of  representing  the 
constructive  force  of  mountain  masses,  and  of  sug- 
gesting perspective.  A thing,  however,  to  be 
observed,  as  affecting  the  dignity  of  the  picture, 
is  that  its  size  is  comparatively  small.  The  painter 
concentrated  his  effort,  and  concentration  on  the 
part  of  the  spectator  is  also  possible,  whereas  over 
a very  large  landscape-canvas  there  is  a corre- 
sponding lessening,  by  dispersion,  both  of  effort 
and  effect. 

Yet  even  this  picture,  though  unquestionably 
it  may  give  us  a sense  of  nature’s  impressiveness, 
does  not  conclusively  impress  us.  We  are  not  made 
to  realise  the  emotions  which  the  painter  must  have 
felt  and  we  ourselves  should  feel  in  presence  of  the 
actual  scene.  We  are  conscious  of  no  condition 
of  feeling  but  one  of  purely  intellectual  compre- 
hension; we  are  pretty  well  assured  what  the  scene 

[81] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


looks  like,  but  not  what  it  feels  like.  It  is  almost 
exclusively  a view. 

Apart  from  questions  of  technical  skill,  this  is 
the  sharp  line  of  difference  between  the  earlier 
landscapes  and  those  of  the  present  day,  in  which 
we  shall  find  the  expression  of  a mood  in  nature 
to  be  the  painter’s  aim.  It  is  a difference  of  point 
of  view  and  motive.  The  mental  attitude  of  Bier- 
stadt.  Church,  and  Moran  still  remained  like  that 
of  Trumbull,  and  their  landscapes  might  be  styled, 
without  straining  the  word,  “historical.” 


[82] 


_ . _ _ Cowriaht,  by  Detroit  Photoqraphic  Co, 

SHOSHONE  FALLS,  SNAKE  RIVER,  IDAHO  Thojias  Moran 

M yHE  best  of  our  painters  of  the  grandiose  in  nature,,  Thomas  Moran  studied  Turner  to  some  purpose.  The  strength  of  the  rampart-like 
# rocks  and  the  impetuous  rush  of  icater  are  admirably  depicted  It  is  in  the  rather  inert  and  heavy  treatment  of  the  misty  part  of  the 
picture  that  the  latter  especially  falls  short  of  the  technique  oj  moae'^u  work,  until  its  closer  observation  of  phenomena  under  the  effect 
of  light. 


CHAPTER  V 


REMNANTS  OF  THE  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 

IN  the  previous  chapter  we  saw  how  the  devel- 
opment of  national  consciousness  found  ex- 
pression in  a native  growth  of  landscape 
painting.  We  noted  that,  while  the  beginnings  of 
the  “ Hudson  River  School  ” were  inspired  by  a 
simple  love  of  nature,  its  followers  gradually  de- 
veloped an  enthusiasm  for  the  grandiose  and  spec- 
tacular; and,  moreover,  that  from  first  to  last  the 
work  of  these  painters  was  technically  insufficient. 
It  will  be  the  topic  of  the  following  chapters  to 
show  how  the  technical  resources  of  American 
painting  were  fertilised  by  foreign  influence. 

For  Emerson’s  doctrine,  that  ‘‘  our  long  appren- 
ticeship to  the  learning  of  other  lands  draws  to  a 
close,”  had  been  put  to  the  test  and  found  wanting. 
It  could  arouse  a motive,  and  a good  one;  hut  not 
provide  the  means  to  realise  it  adequately.  The 
fallacy  of  the  doctrine  consists  in  this — ^that  it  took 
account  only  of  the  subject  matter  of  an  artist’s 
work.  He  felt,  and  rightly,  too,  that  there  should 
be  enough  in  the  accomplishments  and  aspirations 
of  the  American  nation  to  supply  all  the  needed 

[85] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


suggestion  of  ideas.  But  for  a work  of  art  some- 
thing more  is  necessary  than  ideas;  of  even  more 
importance  is  the  form  in  which  they  are  ex- 
pressed. For  it  is  the  form  in  which  the  poetic 
idea,  or  the  musical  harmony,  or  the  pictorial  rep- 
resentation is  embodied,  that  gives  each  its  par- 
ticular qualification  to  be  reckoned  as  a work  of 
art.  The  building  must  be  erected  before  it  can 
be  used  for  the  purpose  for  which  it  is  intended. 
Similarly,  technique  is  the  necessary  structural 
antecedent  to  the  expression  of  an  idea  through  a 
work  of  art. 

Of  technical  knowledge  all  that  survived  in 
America  in  the  middle  of  the  century  was  a rem- 
nant of  the  English  tradition.  It  was  insufficient 
for  real  progress,  as  the  few  men  who  went  abroad 
at  the  middle  of  the  century  discovered.  They 
found  new  forces  in  fermentation,  and  straightway 
began  to  assimilate  them.  Indeed,  a convenient 
way  to  study  the  modern  development  of  the  story 
of  American  painting  is  to  recognise  the  fermen- 
tation which  occurred  in  European  art  during  the 
past  century  and  to  trace  how  American  painting 
gradually  alligned  itself  with  the  foreign  move- 
ment. So  far  from  its  being  a story  of  self-suffi- 
cient isolation,  it  has  come  to  be  one  of  complete 
identification  with  the  strivings  of  other  countries. 
For,  to-day,  so  far  as  concerns  technical  considera- 
tions, painting  is  an  international  art  with  a free 

[86] 


REMNANTS  OF  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 


trade  in  methods,  the  clearing-house  of  which  has 
been  Paris. 

Before,  however,  the  latter  became  generally 
recognised  as  the  metropolitan  centre  of  art  in- 
struction, a few  Americans  travelled  to  Diisseldorf 
and  Munich.  Therefore  the  telling  of  the  story 
demands  an  allusion  to  the  remnant  of  the  English 
tradition  and  to  the  influence  of  these  other  schools, 
as  preparation  for  the  concluding  and  decisive  in- 
fluence of  Paris. 

The  English  influence  had  never  been  completely 
dissolved,  notwithstanding  the  tension  of  political 
feeling,  which  perhaps  had  somewhat  abated, 
though  it  was  to  be  tightened  again  during  the 
period  of  the  Civil  War.  Our  painters  were  wel- 
comed in  England;  and  English  painters,  coming 
over  here,  were  well  received.  Thus,  until  the  mid- 
dle of  the  century,  the  English  tradition  still  lin- 
gered on,  especially  aff* ecting  portraiture  and  genre 
painting. 

But  even  in  England  the  great  day  of  portrait 
painting  was  past.  It  had  reached  its  meridian 
in  Gainsborough  and  Reynolds  and  in  the  Scotch- 
man, Raeburn,  who  in  the  pure  force  of  painting 
was  often  their  superior.  It  had  declined  through 
the  tender  sweetness  of  Romney  and  Hoppner, 
until  it  reached  a sunset  of  superflcial  splendour  in 
Lawrence.  The  latter’s  facile  skill  and  exuberant 
inventiveness  delayed  the  catastrophe,  while  at  the 

[87] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


same  time  it  helped  to  make  it  inevitable  and  com- 
plete. The  study  of  nature  had  yielded  to  senti- 
mentality, that  of  men  and  women  to  an  extrava- 
gant interest  in  their  clothes,  the  original  vigour 
of  the  motive  was  undermined,  and  it  needed  only 
less  skilful  practitioners  to  reduce  the  art  to  a mere 
representation  of  insipid  prettiness  or  of  middle- 
class  banality. 

During  the  second  quarter  of  the  nineteenth 
century  portraiture  in  America,  as  in  England, 
exhibited  hard  polished  surfaces  of  colour,  a dry 
regard  for  (ietails,  and  little  discernment  between 
the  textures  of  flesh  and  fabrics.  Still,  to  so  sweep- 
ing a summary  there  are  some  exceptions,  among 
which,  for  our  present  purpose  of  studying  condi- 
tions rather  than  men,  we  may  mention  four — 
Thomas  Sully,  Henry  Inman,  Chester  Harding, 
and  Charles  Loring  Elliott. 

The  life  of  Sully  covers  the  extended  period  of 
eighty-nine  years,  and  would  be  memorable  if 
only  for  its  enormous  productivity.  He  was  born 
at  Horncastle,  Lincolnshire,  England,  in  1783,  his 
father  and  mother  being  popular  figures  on  the 
English  stage.  When  the  son  was  nine  years  old 
they  accepted  an  engagement  to  settle  in  Charles- 
ton, South  Carolina,  where  in  time  the  boy  received 
instruction  from  his  brother-in-law,  M.  Belzons,  a 
miniature  painter.  After  painting  in  Richmond 

[88] 


REMNANTS  OF  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 


and  Norfolk  he  moved  to  New  York,  and  thence 
to  Boston,  where  for  a few  months  he  studied 
under  Gilbert  Stuart.  In  1809  he  went  to  London 
and  painted  for  a little  while  with  West;  but  from 
the  evidence  of  his  work  it  is  probable  that  the 
painter  in  London  who  chiefly  interested  him  was 
Lawrence. 

His  style,  indeed,  represents  a mixture,  consid- 
erably diluted  with  himself,  of  Lawrence  and 
Stuart.  It  exhibits  the  latter’s  purity  of  fresh 
tones  and  the  other’s  tricks  of  giving  the  sitter  an 
expression  of  pleasant  prettiness;  but  misses  alike 
the  virility  of  Stuart’s  and  Lawrence’s  decorative 
elegance.  From  1810  to  his  death  in  1872  he  lived 
in  Philadelphia. 

Henry  Inman  was  a far  stronger  painter  than 
Sully,  and  one  whose  work  hardly  receives  to-day 
the  recognition  that  it  deserves.  No  doubt,  it  was 
uneven  in  quality ; but  some  of  his  portraits  of  men 
are  remarkably  strong  in  characterisation.  That, 
for  example,  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  owned  by 
the  Law  Association  of  Philadelphia,  is  one  of 
those  sterling  achievements  in  the  presence  of 
which  one  loses  the  idea  of  paint  and  is  conscious 
only  of  the  living,  forceful  personality.  Yet,  if 
one  examines  the  method  of  painting,  there  is  no 
disappointment.  It  is  painstaking  without  being 
laboured  or  fumbling;  very  solid  and  conscientious. 

[89] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


It  lacks  Stuart’s  free-handed  happiness  of  touch 
that  hits  off  expression  as  if  by  improvisation,  yet 
Stuart  never  painted  anything  more  alive  than  this. 

Inman  was  born  at  Utica,  New  York,  in  1803. 
He  became  in  time  a pupil  of  that  eccentric  painter, 
John  Wesley  Jarvis,  an  Englishman  by  birth,  who 
was  as  much  a glutton  for  work  as  he  was  for  the 
delights  and  weaknesses  of  the  flesh.  Inman  was 
elected  the  first  viee-president  of  the  National 
Academy,  and  enjoyed  unusual  success  both  in 
Philadelphia  and  New  York.  But  he  was  a vietim 
of  asthma,  and  frailty  of  health  reduced  his  capac- 
ity for  productiveness.  Some  friends,  among  whom 
was  James  Lenox,  the  founder  of  the  Lenox 
Library  and  its  eollection  of  pictures,  arranged  for 
him  to  visit  England  to  paint  the  portrait  of 
Wordsworth  and  other  famous  men.  His  visit 
was  altogether  a happy  episode;  the  asthma  for  the 
time  being  ceased  to  trouble  him;  he  made  many 
friends;  his  portraits  were  appreeiated,  and  he  was 
urged  to  settle  in  England.  He  returned,  how- 
ever, to  Ameriea;  but  a few  months  later,  in  1846, 
died  of  heart  disease. 

The  vieissitudes  of  Chester  Harding’s  early  life 
present  an  interesting  reflection  of  the  state  of  the 
times.  He  was  born  at  Conway,  Jlassachusetts, 
in  1792;  but  when  he  was  fourteen  years  old  the 
family  moved  into  Western  New  York.  He  was 

[90] 


PORTRAIT  OF  ELIZA  LESLIE  Thomas  Sully 

American  authoress^  sister  of  the  painter,  Charles  Robert  Leslie,  R.A. 
In  the  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


< UT  OK  OANOKK  WCBSTKR 

In  the  Collection  of  tlie  linoinnati  Museum  Associatioi 


REMNANTS  OF  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 


a young  giant,  over  six  feet  in  height  and  of  great 
strength,  expending  the  latter  until  his  twenty-first 
year  in  the  rough  hardships  of  pioneer  work.  Then 
he  supported  a roving  existence  by  peddling  and 
chair-making,  settling  down  for  a little  while  as  a 
tavern-keeper,  and  then  moving  afield  again  until 
he  reached  Pittsburgh.  Here,  while  engaged  as  a 
house-painter,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a trav- 
elling portrait-painter,  who  kindled  his  imagination 
but  refused  him  any  technical  instruction.  Unde- 
terred, however,  by  this  early  symptom  of  trades 
unionism,  he  went  to  work  with  brushes  and  paint 
and  produced  what  was  at  least  a resemblance  of 
his  wife.  The  rest  is  a story  of  steady  endeavour. 
Having  gained  some  facility,  he  migrated  to  Ken- 
tucky, thence  to  Cincinnati  and  St.  Louis,  every- 
where securing  customers  and  increasing  alike  in 
his  skill  and  prices.  Finally  he  reached  Boston, 
and,  meeting  with  a success  that  seems  to  have  im- 
paired even  the  popularity  of  Gilbert  Stuart,  estab- 
lished himself  in  that  city,  which,  except  during  a 
visit  paid  to  England,  continued  to  be  his  home 
until  his  death  in  1866.  Like  Inman,  he  enjoyed 
in  England  a very  considerable  vogue.  But,  so  far 
as  I am  acquainted  with  his  work,  it  never  equalled 
Inman’s  at  its  best,  and  is  rather  on  a par  with  that 
painter’s  average  work;  creditably  lifelike,  but 
lacking  in  distinction  either  of  character  or  style. 

It  is  in  the  latter  respect  that  Charles  Loring 

[93] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


Elliott  proved  himself  in  advance  of  his  time.  The 
son  of  an  architect  in  Auburn,  New  York,  where 
he  was  born  in  1812,  his  father  wished  him  to  fol- 
low his  own  profession.  But,  set  on  being  a painter, 
he  was  allowed  to  go  to  New  York,  where  Trum- 
bull gave  him  some  instruction,  which  was  after- 
ward supplemented  by  an  indiiferent  painter 
named  Quidor.  But  it  had  involved  a good  deal 
of  drawing  from  the  cast,  and  resulted  in  Elliott 
becoming  a sure  and  ready  draughtsman.  Plis  skill 
in  paint,  however,  must  have  been  the  product  of 
a natural  gift,  for  he  developed  a facility  in  using 
the  brush,  fully  charged  with  paint,  that  had  a 
character  of  its  own  and  was  expressive  also  of 
character  in  the  sitter.  He  could  not  have  learned 
this  from  his  contemporaries,  and  it  is  not  recorded 
that  he  ever  went  abroad,  so  that  this  individuality 
and  meaningfulness  of  brushwork  are  the  more  re- 
markable. He  anticipated  by  some  instinct  the 
qualities  of  painting  that,  during  the  generation 
after  his  death  in  1868,  were  acquired  by  others 
from  abroad. 

The  genre  painting  of  the  middle  of  the  century 
is  interesting  to-day  chiefly  as  an  illustration  of  the 
kind  of  picture  that  amused  our  forebears  and  still 
amuses  those  of  us  who  care  more  about  some  little 
anecdotal  subject-matter  than  the  method  of  the 
painting.  Because  of  the  perennial  nature  of  this 

[94] 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  ARTIST 


Charles  Lortng  Elliott 


LLIOTT  appears  at  his  best  in  bust  portraits,  such  as  this  one,  which  fully  sustains  his 
reputation  of  being  the  foremost  American  portrait-painter  of  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


dfrii'sd  from  his  Eiv/lish  training. 


REMNANTS  OF  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 


preference  and  the  fact  that  John  G.  Brown’s  long 
career  bridges  the  past  with  the  present,  w^e  may 
select  him  as  typical  of  the  many  genre  painters 
that  might  be  mentioned. 

We  shall  again  have  occasion  to  notice  genre 
painting  when  we  consider  the  influence  of  Diissel- 
dorf ; for  the  present  let  us  summarise  the  English 
phases  of  it.  It  originated  with  Hogarth  in  the 
first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century;  firstly,  in  his 
little  domestic  groups  or  “ conversation  pictures,”  as 
he  called  them;  secondly,  in  the  scenes  from  fash- 
ionable life  or  vulgar  life,  which,  as  he  explains,  he 
composed  “ on  canvas  similar  to  representations  on 
the  stage.”  “ ]\Iy  picture  is  my  stage,  and  men  and 
women  my  players,  who  by  means  of  certain  ac- 
tions or  gestures  are  to  exhibit  a dumb  show.” 

This  was  a motive  very  different  from  that  of 
the  Dutch  genre.  While  the  latter  was  occasionally 
preoccupied  with  the  rendering  of  incidents,  its 
best  and  most  usual  characteristic  was  the  prime  in- 
tention of  making  a picture,  in  which  the  incident 
was  assigned  to  a secondary  function  of  supplying 
an  excuse  for  a beautiful  arrangement  of  colour 
and  light  and  shade.  The  Dutchmen  were  paint- 
ers first,  illustrators  of  manners  second,  but  seldom 
moralists,  as  Hogarth  was.  Such  picture-dramas, 
as  the  series  of  Marriage  a la  Mode,  proceed  from 
act  to  act  with  a logic  as  relentless,  a satire  as  pun- 
gent, a moral  force  as  compelling,  as  the  dramas  of 

[97] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


Ibsen.  On  the  other  hand,  like  the  latter’s,  they  are 
saved  by  their  art  from  being  didactic.  Hogarth, 
besides  being  a moralist,  was  an  excellent  painter. 
Yet  the  latter  quality  is  the  one  that  was  overlooked 
by  the  public  on  whom  the  didactic,  story-telling, 
literary-dramatic  features  of  his  pictures  made  a 
deep  impression.  They  helped  to  confirm  the  Eng- 
lish preference,  not,  however,  exclusively  English, 
for  what  is  intelligible  to  the  understanding  rather 
than  suggestive  to  the  imagination,  for  intellectual 
concreteness  rather  than  abstract  sensations.  They 
established  the  vogue  of  the  picture  which  enacts  a 
scene. 

Fifty  years  after  Hogarth,  Moreland  ap- 
proached nearer  to  the  Dutch  genre.  He,  too, 
was  an  excellent  painter,  and  his  pictures  of  rural 
scenes  are  thoroughly  pictorial  in  their  charm  of 
colour  and  light.  But  he  lived  at  a time  when  the 
highest  thing  in  art  was  held  to  be  the  painting  of 
the  historical  or  mythological  subject  in  the  “ grand 
manner  ” of  the  Italians,  and  a public,  intent  on 
subject  matter  rather  than  on  qualities  of  painting, 
considered  his  work  \uilgar.  The  same  charge  was 
brought  still  fifty  years  later  against  the  genre 
pictures  of  Wilkie ; but  by  this  time  the  reputation 
of  the  bombastic  picture  was  a little  stale,  the  mid- 
dle elass  Avas  coming  to  its  own,  and  popularity 
with  the  public  meant  success  to  the  painter.  Wil- 
kie, accordingly,  followed  by  Landseer  and  Mul- 

[98] 


REMNANTS  OF  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 


ready,  all  three  of  them  clever  practitioners  with 
the  brush,  so  far  as  representing  the  actual  appear- 
ances of  things,  held  their  own  in  the  popular  esti- 
mation, and  followers  of  them,  less  skilful  with  the 
brush,  confirmed  the  public  in  their  appetite  for 
the  story-telling  pictures.  The  latter  were  no 
longer  trenchant  with  satire,  but  amiably  humor- 
ous or  sentimental:  little  literary  pleasantries  in 
paint.  It  was  this  sort  of  influence  that  John  G. 
Brown  inherited  and  has  continued  to  transmit. 

He  was  born  at  Durham,  England,  in  1831.  He 
attended  the  schools  of  the  Edinburgh  Academy, 
and  also  painted  in  London  until  1856,  when  he 
transferred  his  life  and  work  to  New  York.  With 
the  quick  eye  of  a stranger  for  what  is  novel  to 
him,  he  began  to  paint  the  types  of  people  around 
him,  and  then  the  street  boys  of  New  York.  His 
pictures  of  the  boy  upon  the  sidewalk,  selling 
papers,  shining  shoes,  or  larking  with  his  fellows, 
won  admirers,  and  he  has  continued  to  paint  them 
ever  since.  Such  consistency  to  one  subject  was 
no  doubt  the  result,  partly  of  choice,  partly  of  the 
taste  of  his  public.  His  genial  nature  has  always 
gone  out  to  his  boy-subjects;  he  has  discovered  the 
best  that  is  in  them  and  represented  it  with  sym- 
pathy, though,  it  must  be  admitted,  with  some  sac- 
rifice of  reality.  For  his  boys  have  a mildness  and 
ingenuousness  that,  to  the  casual  observer,  at  least, 
is  not  characteristic  of  the  class.  But  this  very 

[99] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


softening  of  the  type  pleased  a sentimental  public, 
and  they  insisted  on  having  Brown’s  street  boys  as 
they  had  learned  through  him  to  know  them.  In 
this  way  not  a few  painters  are  compelled,  whether 
they  wish  it  or  not,  to  go  on  repeating  their  motives. 
The  public,  demanding  an  example  of  what  it  calls 
one  of  their  ‘‘  characteristic  ” pictures,  will  not  let 
them  change. 

So  there  are  few  collectors  in  this  country  who 
have  not  at  some  time  or  other  owned  a “ Brown 
still  fewer  who  have  not  in  the  course  of  their  artis- 
tic development  disposed  of  it.  The  reason  of  the 
public  taste  is  not  difficult  to  trace.  In  the  early 
stage  of  our  appreciation  we  are  attracted,  as  I 
have  already  said,  by  the  subject  matter  of  the 
picture.  The  first  consideration  is — “ What  is  it 
about?  ” Then,  if  it  is  about  something  with  which 
we  are  familiar,  we  take  a curious  delight  in  identi- 
fying all  the  little  details  of  resemblance  to  reality 
— the  bristles  in  the  blacking-brush,  the  label  on  the 
bottle,  the  seam  of  the  breeches,  and  the  stitches  of 
the  patch.  It  all  looks  “ so  natural,”  and  we  think 
it  a wonderful  piece  of  painting;  because  in  our 
infancy  of  appreciation,  just  as  in  our  infancy  of 
age,  we  place  a high  value  on  the  faculty  of  imita- 
tion. To  mew  like  a cat  is  quite  an  accomplish- 
ment, so  also  to  make  a painted  boy  look  like  a 
real  boy. 

At  least  we  think  it  looks  real,”  but  this  is  a 
[100] 


REMNANTS  OF  ENGLISH  INFLUENCE 


begging  of  the  whole  question.  We  shall  come 
to  this  topic  of  realism  later  on,  when  we  describe 
how  our  painters  came  in  contact  with  the  teach- 
ings and  study  of  realism  abroad,  but  meanwhile 
may  briefly  anticipate  the  inquiry,  Are  these  boys 
of  Brown’s  regarded  as  character  studies,  really 
like  the  boys  of  the  streets?  Have  not  their  crude 
mixture  of  good  and  bad,  of  ugliness  and  attrac- 
tiveness, their  queer,  intensely  human,  if  distorted, 
individuality  been  scoured  to  a characterless  pro- 
priety, and  polished  into  a meek  amiability  by  an 
application  of  moral  sapolio,  until  they  may  be  fit 
for  the  parlour  but  are  no  longer  suggestive  of 
the  streets?  Compare,  for  example,  the  studies  of 
street  boys  which  Murillo  made,  as  they  lay  basking 
in  the  sunshine  of  the  market  place  of  Seville. 
These,  indeed,  are  the  real  thing,  even  to  the  sun- 
caked  dirt  on  their  feet,  which  so  disturbed  Ruskin. 
And  the  pictures  of  them  have  a further  pictorial 
reality.  The  warm  air  envelopes  their  lazy  bodies, 
the  sunshine  burnishes  their  limbs.  There  is  no 
suggestion  of  air  in  Brown’s  pictures,  no  light  of 
nature,  no  burnish  save  that  of  varnished  paint. 
Actual  boys  in  actual  daylight  could  not  look  like 
his;  the  latter  have  neither  realism  of  character  nor 
realism  of  representation.  Still  less  have  these  pic- 
tures the  capacity  to  arouse  an  abstract  enjoyment 
through  the  qualities  of  colour,  light  and  shade, 
and  tonality. 


[101] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


In  brief,  then,  it  was  to  learn  to  look  at  nature 
naturally,  and  to  represent  it  as  it  is,  and  yet  with 
such  creative  artifice  of  technical  charm  as  shall 
affect  the  imagination  independently  of  the  sub- 
ject, that  our  painters  had  to  seek  inspiration  from 
abroad.  England  had  failed  them;  Diisseldorf 
and  Munich  will  he  tried  and  found  wanting;  the 
lesson,  at  last,  will  he  acquired  in  France. 


[102] 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  DUSSELDORF  AND  MUNICH 

IT  was  in  the  beginning  of  the  'fifties  that 
American  painting  came  under  the  influence 
of  Dusseldorf.  We  have  noted  already  that 
the  landscape  painters,  James  M.  Hart  and  Albert 
Bierstadt,  were  students  of  its  Academy,  and  shall 
now  allude  to  the  two  figure-painters,  Emanuel 
Leutze,  who  was  a distinct  product  of  its  teaching, 
and  Eastman  Johnson,  who  outlived  its  influence. 
Further,  we  shall  note  how  greatly  the  importa- 
tion of  Dusseldorf  pictures  affected  the  taste  of 
the  American  public. 

The  reputation  of  Dusseldorf  as  an  artistic  cen- 
tre had  been  the  growth  of  some  twenty-five  years, 
since  Schadow  had  been  appointed  director  of  its 
Academy  and  had  gathered  around  him  a body  of 
students  who  remained  faithful  to  the  spot  and 
bound  themselves  into  a community,  as  interesting 
as  it  was  unique.  Let  it  be  said  at  once  that 
Schadow’s  influence  rested  upon  the  fact  that  he 
was  a real  painter;  and  that,  while  others  were 
draughtsmen  who  tinted  their  drawings  wdth  paint, 
he  revived  in  Germany  the  art  of  actually  con- 
structing the  picture  in  paint — ^the  art,  in  fact,  of 

[ 103] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


painting.  But  the  characteristic  distinction  of 
Dlisseldorf,  at  first,  was  a psychological  one.  This 
quaint  little  town  upon  the  Rhine  had  hecome,  as 
early  as  1830,  the  nucleus  of  German  Romanticism. 
Bound  together  hy  sympathy  with  this  spirit,  the 
painters  sjient  their  days  in  painting,  their  evenings 
and  occasions  of  recreation  in  reinforcing  their 
imaginations  with  the  reading  and  discussing  of 
Romantic  poetry  and  legends.  The  world  of  the 
present  did  not  exist  for  them,  their  preoccupation 
was  solely  witli  the  past.  Mendelssohn,  the  musi- 
cian, for  a while  was  a memher  of  the  little  commun- 
ity; hut  the  one  person,  not  a painter,  who  exerted 
the  greatest  influence  on  the  movement  was  a cer- 
tain Judge  Immerman,  the  reformer  of  the  stage 
at  Dlisseldorf.  Under  his  direction  two  perform- 
ances a week  were  given,  and  the  younger  painters 
engaged  in  amateur  performances.  The  stage  be- 
came a mirror  of  the  past.  In  it  the  painters  found 
suggestions  for  representing  the  themes  derived 
from  literature  and  legendary  tradition. 

Such  was  the  inspiration  at  Dlisseldorf.  It  was 
not  a product  of  the  present  that  had  in  it  the 
capacity  of  further  growth.  INIoreover,  its  de- 
pendence upon  literature  and  the  drama  had  in  it 
the  germ  of  sterility.  For,  by  the  time  that  the 
original  fervour  of  a Schadow  and  a Lessing  had 
dwindled  to  the  poetic  sentimentality  of  a Schir- 
mer,  what  had  been  an  alliance  wdth  the  written 

[104] 


DliSSELDORF  AND  MUNICH 

and  spoken  word  sank  into  a bondage  to  it.  And 
even  when  the  precise  and  petty  style  of  brush- 
work,  which  since  Schadow’s  time  had  characterised 
the  methods  of  Diisseldorf,  was  later  broadened 
and  enriched  by  some  of  its  followers  who,  like 
Knaus  and  Vautier,  studied  subsequently  in  Paris, 
their  pictures  could  not  escape  altogether  the  taint 
of  their  literary  inspiration. 

Lessing,  the  strongest  of  all  the  school,  became 
the  teacher  of  Emanuel  Leutze.  Though  the  lat- 
ter was  a native  of  Germany,  having  been  born  at 
Gmund,  in  Wiirttemberg,  in  1816,  he  is  reckoned  an 
American  painter,  since  he  was  brought  to  Phila- 
delphia as  a child,  and  received  his  first  instruction 
there,  and,  in  after  years,  when  his  course  at  Diis- 
seldorf  had  been  supplemented  by  study  at  Vienna, 
Munich,  and  Rome,  settled  permanently  in  this 
country,  dividing  his  time  between  New  York  and 
Washington. 

His  best-known  picture,  and,  by  general  assent, 
his  strongest,  is  Washington  Crossing  the  Dela-- 
ware:,  now  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum.  It  has 
one  virtue : it  is  simple  and  sincere,  without  heroics. 
It  almost  illustrates  the  incident  as  it  may  have 
been  conducted  by  men  far  too  absorbed  in  the 
peril  and  possible  failure  of  the  enterprise  to  have 
any  thought  of  arranging  themselves  in  a striking 
theatrical  group.  On  the  other  hand,  it  represents 
a plodding  and  constrained  method  of  brushwork, 

[105] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


tame  even  in  a small  canvas,  spread  here  over  one 
that  measures  twenty-one  feet  by  twelve.  It  is 
worthy  of  note  that  with  Leutze  the  attempt  of 
American  painters  to  execute  large  historical  sub- 
jects ceased,  not  to  be  revived  until  nearly  fifty 
years  later,  when  it  reappeared  in  Abbey. 

While  Leutze  worked  upon  this  picture  in  Diis- 
seldorf,  Eastman  Johnson  was  one  of  his  pupils. 
When  still  a youth  in  his  home  at  Lovell,  ]\Iaine, 
where  he  was  born  in  1824,  Johnson  had  begun  to 
make  portraits  in  crayon,  and  with  so  much  suc- 
cess that  at  twenty-one  he  moved  to  Washington, 
and  later  to  Cambridge  and  Boston,  securing  pa- 
trons in  all  these  cities.  He  was  now  in  a position 
to  go  abroad,  and  at  Diisseldorf  improved  his  draw- 
ing and  acquired  a knowledge  of  painting.  For- 
tunately he  supplemented  his  study  with  a four 
years’  sojourn  in  Holland,  during  w^hich  he  fa- 
miliarised himself  with  the  Dutch  paintings  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  Their  influence  w^as  tw^ofold. 
It  led  him  to  prefer  genre  subjects  to  historical,  and 
developed  his  owm  natural  gift  of  colour.  At  a 
time  wdien  the  prime  consideration  both  with  paint- 
ers and  the  public  w^as  that  a picture  should  repre- 
sent an  incident,  a poem,  or  a story,  he,  following 
the  example  of  the  Dutch  artists,  learned,  while 
choosing  a subject  of  popular  appeal,  to  treat  it  as 
an  opportunity  of  inventing  a scheme  of  harmoni- 
ous colouring.  In  a w^ord,  he  merged  the  narrator 

[106] 


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lu  the  Collection  of  the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery,  W; 


DUSSELDORF  AND  MUNICH 

in  the  artist.  After  his  return  to  America  he 
painted  many  pictures  of  country-life  in  New  York 
State  and  Kentucky,  and  during  the  war  many 
subjects  of  patriotic  significance.  They  are  small 
in  size,  but  broad  in  handling,  having  little  of 
the  tightness  and  dry  smoothness  of  surface  char- 
acteristic of  Diisseldorf.  They  are  also  very 
charming  in  colour,  the  work  of  a man  who  could 
enrich  the  mere  subject  matter  with  artistic  sug- 
gestion. 

In  the  portraits  also  that  occupied  his  later  life 
he  exhibited  the  Dutch  faculty  of  seizing  the  ex- 
ternal character  of  his  sitter,  and  of  depicting  it 
in  a forcible  and  straightforward  way.  Although 
they  lack  the  dash  and  bravura  of  some  modern 
portraits,  they  hold  their  own  by  their  disciplined 
methods  of  virility  and  decision. 

At  Diisseldorf,  as  we  have  hinted,  the  flames  of 
Romanticism  dwindled  to  the  candle  light  of  do- 
mestic genre;  the  drama  was  superseded  by  light 
opera,  and  a virtuous  and  picturesque  peasantry, 
seen  across  the  mild  effulgence  of  rose-coloured 
footlights,  thronged  the  stage.  Until  Millet 
pricked  the  pretty  bubble  of  misrepresentation,  and 
taught  men  to  study  human  life  as  it  really  is, 
these  fancy  idylls  of  peasant  genre,  turned  out 
from  Diisseldorf  or  under  its  influence,  flooded  our 
American  market.  Anyone  who  is  conversant 
with  the  operations  of  the  picture  salesrooms 

[109] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


knows  how  large  a part  they  have  played  in  the 
greater  number  of  collections.  Their  popular 
appeal  may  have  done  much  to  interest  people  in 
pictures,  but  it  certainly  postponed  for  a consider- 
able time  a just  appreciation  of  the  true  nature  of 
pictorial  art. 

By  the  middle  of  the  century  the  fame  of  Diis- 
seldorf,  as  a school,  had  passed  to  IMunich.  The 
latter’s  relation  to  American  art,  in  point  of  time, 
began  after  the  topic  which  is  to  be  treated  in  the 
next  cha2)ter ; but  it  will  be  convenient  to  dispose  of 
it  here,  particularly  as  it  represented  only  a brief 
phase  of  foreign  study  and  had  no  abiding  influ- 
ence. The  ideal  of  Munich  was  the  historical  pic- 
ture: its  greatest  pride,  Piloty.  The  latter’s 
training  had  been  enforced  by  foreign  study, 
especially  in  Paris,  and  when  he  returned  home  in 
1855  he  produced  a sensation,  for  among  the 
INIunicli  2^ainters  of  the  day,  who  had  almost  lost 
the  sense  of  colour,  he  suddenly  appeared  as  a 
master  of  what  he  called  “ colouristic  realism.”  He 
had,  that  is  to  say,  a faculty  of  representing  vigor- 
ously with  broad  strokes  and  juicy  brushwork  the 
colour  properties  and  appearances  of  objects.  If 
he  painted  a boot,  for  example,  there  was  no  mis- 
taking its  bootlike  quality;  it  was  leather,  sure 
enough,  black  and  hard  and  polished,  and  gleaming 
with  high  lights — uimiistakably  a boot. 

[110] 


TWO  MEN  Eastman  Johnson 

^ M yHIS  double  portrait  is  distinguished  by  the  dignity  and  character  of  the  heads,  by  ease  of  gesture  and  firmness  of 
m drawing  in  the  figures,  and  by  a rich  and  fairly  luminous  color-scheme.  It  was  painted  in  1881. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


WELL  AND  WATER  TANK,  ITALIAN  VILLA  Fuank  Di  vknec k 

/jSTFJKI'JST/XG  att  an  Ubisf  ration  of  any  earh/  effort  taj  a Munirh-f  rained  painter  to  (jet  anunj  from  the  studio  tradi- 
tion of  dark ^ old-master ish  canvases  and  ehdxjrate.hj  com))Hed  compositions  to  the  natural  effeHs  of  open-air  sunshine. 

Tn  of  r’infinriMti  Museum  Association 


DUSSELDORF  AND  MUNICH 

Moreover,  Piloty  was  a man  of  mental  vigour, 
with  the  German  exuberance  of  temperament,  that 
entered  heartily  into  the  grandeur  of  the  historical 
ideal,  and  attacked  the  intricacies  of  a crowded 
canvas  with  the  assurance  and  facility  of  a man 
pulling  on  his  gloves.  By  him  the  dramatic  motive 
was  introduced  upon  a larger  stage  with  a fuller 
company  of  principals  and  supers,  a more  mag- 
nificent mise-en-scene,  and  a more  grandiloquent 
libretto.  For,  though  he  taught  men  how  to  paint, 
he  tightened  for  a time  the  bondage  of  painting 
to  literature.  It  was  not  yoked,  as  at  Diisseldorf, 
to  a peasant’s  ox  cart,  but  followed  behind  a tri- 
umphal car,  on  which  History  sat  enthroned.  Nor 
was  he  a great  painter  in  the  modern  sense  of  the 
term.  His  realism  was  of  the  mannered  kind.  It 
did  not  take  account  of  the  appearance  of  things 
in  real  light  and  atmosphere,  but  imitated  with  a 
plentiful  use  of  the  brown  pigment,  bitumen,  the 
hea\y  shadows  of  the  old  pictures  in  the  galleries, 
discoloured  by  time  and  dirt  and  varnish.  Among 
the  pupils  whom  his  magnetism  attracted  and  who 
subsequently  became  professors  at  Munich  were 
Wagner  and  Diez,  the  latter  a robust  painter  of 
old  German  scenes  in  small  pictures  of  delicate 
tonality,  modelled  on  the  genre  of  the  Dutchmen. 
It  was  under  these  three  men  that  a few  of  our 
painters  received  instruction:  Frederick  Dielman 
studying  with  Diez,  William  M.  Chase  with 

[113] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAX  PAINTING 


Piloty  and  Wagner,  while  the  latter  was  one  of  the 
teachers  of  Walter  Shirlaw  during  his  six  years’ 
stay  in  Munich. 

The  interest  of  this  INIunich  episode  in  its  rela- 
tion to  the  story  of  American  painting  centres 
around  Duveneck  and  Chase  because  of  the  influ- 
ence they  have  exerted  upon  others.  The  former 
spent  ten  years  in  JMunich,  and  during  that  time 
himself  became  a teacher.  Among  those  who 
studied  with  him  there,  and  in  the  little  village  of 
Polling  in  the  Bavarian  Alps,  and  in  Venice,  were 
John  W.  Alexander,  Frederick  P.  Vinton,  Joseph 
R.  De  Camp,  and  Julian  Story.  For  many  years 
he  has  been  instructor  in  painting  at  the  Cincinnati 
Art  School. 

Indeed,  it  is  as  a teacher,  rather  than  as  a 
producer  of  pictures,  that  his  position  is  nota- 
ble. He  was  the  first  of  American  instructors  to 
make  the  bnishwork  instead  of  the  crayon-drawing 
the  foundation  of  the  picture;  to  impart  a painter’s 
rather  than  a draughtsman’s  point  of  view\  In- 
stead of  completing  an  elaborately  shaded  drawing 
and  then  painting  over  it  with  a careful  observance 
of  the  lines  and  details  and  more  or  less  finishing 
up  of  each  j)art  as  one  proceeded,  he  taught  the 
student  to  cover  his  canvas  with  paint,  boldly  block- 
ing in  the  large  masses  of  the  subject;  afterwards 
superimposing  the  various  succeeding  planes  to 
produce  the  modelling,  and,  in  order  to  secure  an 

[lU] 


ELIZABETH  BOOTT  DUVENECK 


Frank  Duveneck 


^ # y HE  costume  throughout  is  in  shades  of  brown.  The  brush- 
K loork,  while  inclined  to  be  a little  sleek,  is  broad  and 
direct.  It  reflects  the  influence  of  Munich  training  be- 
fore the  artist  had  learned  for  himself  to  study  the  effects  of 
nature’s  lighting. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Cincinnati  Museum  Association 


LADY  WITH  THE  WHITE  SHAWL 


A 


WiLLiA^t  ]NI-  Chase 

N\  iiJrl  mi:.  

PORTRAIT  of  the  o,-thfe  wife,  as  choke  in  feeling  as  in  the  dehcate 

bteadth  of  its  ie  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy 

of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


DUSSELDORF  AND  MUNICH 


ensemble  of  effect,  gradually  advancing  the  whole 
canvas  through  the  separate  stages  to  a finish. 

Whether  Chase  learned  this  process  from  Du- 
veneck,  or  acquired  it  subsequently  from  the 
example  of  the  famous  French  teacher,  Carolus- 
Duran,  whose  somewhat  similar  method  we  shall 
discuss  in  another  chapter,  it  has  been  the  one  that 
he  also  has  imparted  to  innumerable  students.  But 
his  influence  has  not  been  confined  to  the  public ; he 
has  taken  a leading  part  in  most  of  the  artistic 
movements  of  the  last  twenty-five  years,  and  has 
been  prominent  at  exhibitions  with  his  own  pictures. 
In  oils,  water-colours,  pastels,  and  even  etchings 
he  has  proved  his  versatility,  revealing  an  extraor- 
dinary dexterity  in  the  use  of  each  medium,  and  a 
refined  sense  for  the  pictorial  qualities  of  colour, 
tone,  and  lighting.  Portraits,  genre  subjects,  land- 
scape, and  still  life  have  occupied  him  by  turns.  A 
few  of  his  portraits,  notably  The  Woman  in  a 
White  Shawl,  exhibit  genuine  insight  and  feeling; 
but  these  are  qualities  one  does  not  generally  as- 
sociate with  his  work,  any  more  than  one  looks  for 
evidence  of  imagination.  It  is  with  the  external 
appearances  that  he  is  preoccupied ; he  is  primarily 
and  almost  exclusively  a painter,  pure  and  simple. 

It  was  not  until  about  1875  that  the  older  of 
these  Munich  students  made  their  mark  in  the  exhi- 
bitions at  home;  so  that  we  have  anticipated  by 
many  years  the  place  which  the  school  occupies 

[117] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


chronologically  in  our  story.  But  as  I have  said 
before,  it  seemed  convenient  to  dispose  of  this 
phase  of  it,  that  the  French  influence,  which  is  now 
to  occupy  our  attention,  may  be  considered  without 
interruption. 


MOTHER  AND  CHILD 


MTllia3I  Morris  Huxr 


GOOD  example  of  Hunt's  preference  for  strong  and  simple  lines 
and  large,  handsome  7}iasscs  of  form,  distinguished  also  by  a noble 
sincerity  of  feeling. 

In  the  Collection  of  Mrs.  Richard  Morris  Hunt 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE:  THE 
BARBIZON 

FR0]\I  the  middle  of  the  century  onward 
France  has  been  the  main  source  of  in- 
fluence, as  well  for  American  painting  as 
for  that  of  other  countries.  In  a word,  painting 
has  been  affected  like  other  departments  of  thought 
and  culture  by  the  centripetal  tendencies  of  modern 
times.  The  ease  and  rapidity  of  modern  com- 
munication has  drawn  the  world  into  closer  and 
more  intimate  consciousness  of  what  is  being 
thought  and  accomplished  elsewhere,  so  that  a free 
trade  in  ideas,  resulting  in  a kind  of  cosmopolitan- 
ism, is  the  characteristic  of  the  day.  And  for 
painting,  the  clearing  house  of  the  world  has  been 
Paris. 

This,  however,  is  not  to  be  understood  as  imply- 
ing that  American  painting  is  to-day  merely  an 
offshoot  of  French  art,  having  no  character  or 
quality  of  its  own.  Later  on  in  our  story  we  may 
be  able  to  discover  some  traits  sufficiently  marked 
and  widespread  to  constitute  an  American  char- 
acteristic, and  without  doubt  we  shall  find  plenty  of 
evidence  of  individuality  on  the  part  of  separate 

[ ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


painters;  yet  it  is  no  less  true  that  the  foundations 
of  our  j)rogress  have  been  derived  from  Paris. 
They  consist  in  motive  and  method. 

It  is  from  the  conflict  of  opinions  upon  these 
topics,  which  has  occupied  Paris  for  the  past  fifty 
years,  that  our  painters,  like  those  of  other  nations, 
have  derived,  on  the  one  hand,  their  point  of  view, 
their  way  of  looking  at  their  subject;  and,  on  the 
other,  their  manner  of  rej)resenting  it.  The  |)ar- 
ticular  use  which  they  liave  made  of  both  is  tlie 
measure  in  each  case  of  the  painter’s  individuality. 

Nor  is  the  conflict  of  which  Paris  has  been  the 
centre  founded  upon  entirely  novel  principles;  it 
has  been  largely  concerned  with  the  readjustment 
to  its  own  times  of  old  ones.  Briefly,  it  has  been 
the  modern  phase  of  the  old  perpetual  struggle 
between  conservatism  and  progress;  and  to  aj^pre- 
ciate  it  properly  we  must  recognise  the  advantage 
alike  of  the  one  and  of  the  other:  of  conservatism 
as  the  expression  of  something  fundamentally  and 
perennially  desirable,  of  progress  as  the  adaptation 
of  this  to  the  forward  spirit  of  the  age.  Painting, 
no  more  than  any  other  art,  can  afford  to  detach 
itself  from  the  past,  still  less  stand  still  in  the  face 
of  the  present.  If  it  is  to  be  vital,  it  cannot  be  a 
stagnant  pool ; its  tributary  streams  and  tidal  move- 
ments must  be  related  to  the  ocean  of  great  waters. 

The  conservative  element  in  modern  art  has  been 
supplied  by  the  Academic  system,  notably  in  Paris 

[ 122  ] 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


by  that-  of  the  F rench  Academy  and  its  official 
school,  the  Kcole  des  Beauoo  Arts;  while  the  pro- 
gressive involves  the  various  efforts  which  indi- 
viduals or  groups  have  made  to  combat  it.  At  the 
middle  of  tlie  century,  when  the  three  pioneers  of 
Paris-seeking  students — Ilunt,  Inness,  and  La 
Farge — v/ent  abroad,  the  issue  was  between  the 
Ecole  on  the  one  hand  and  the  Barbizon  movement 
on  the  other.  A generation  later,  individualism 
having  adopted  a number  of  cries,  was  exhibiting 
itself  under  various  aspects  of  realism,  impression- 
ism, “ art  for  art’s  sake,”  and  plcin  air;  all  of  which, 
like  the  earlier  Barbizon  movement,  were  but  at- 
tempts to  render  nature  naturally,  rather  than  in 
accordance  with  certain  principles,  adhered  to  arbi- 
trarily, as  it  was  thought,  by  the  Academy. 

The  latter,  with  its  Ecole  des  Beaux  ArtSj  has 
been  officially  maintained  in  order  to  preserve  a 
standard  of  excellence  and  a system  of  teaching. 
Both  are  based  upon  the  pre-eminence  of  line  over 
colour,  of  drawing  over  painting.  Such  an  out-and- 
out  doctrinaire  as  Ingres  asserted  that  “Form  is 
everything,  colour  nothing.”  Whether  the  doc- 
trine be  applied  to  landscape  or  figure  painting,  it 
implies  the  superiority  of  art  over  nature,  and  the 
need  of  modifying  the  forms  of  nature  that  they 
may  be  made  to  emulate  the  perfection  of  classic 
models.  Thus  the  so-called  classic  landscape  is  an 
elaborate  piecing  together  of  natural  and  archi- 

[ m] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


tectural  features,  selected  from  various  sources, 
including  the  imagination,  and  assembled  on  the 
canvas  to  produce  an  ideal  composition,  that  shall 
atfect  us  in  a purely  abstract  way  by  the  dignity 
of  line  and  massing. 

It  was  this  attitude  towards  nature  that  the 
painters  of  the  Barhizon  group  opposed,  both  in 
their  lives  and  in  their  art.  They  set  out,  not  to 
improve  upon  nature,  but  to  learn  from  it.  An- 
ticipating the  spirit  of  scientific  research  which 
became  the  leading  characteristic  of  the  age,  they 
substituted  for  abstract  and  typal  generalisations 
an  intimate  study  of  individual  appearances.  In 
studying  the  individuality  of  nature  they  became 
themselves  intensely  individual — thus  embodying 
another  leading  characteristic  of  the  age.  They 
discovered  also  a new  conception  of  the  ideal. 

It  was  founded,  not,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Aca- 
demicians, upon  fancied  perfection,  but  upon  truth. 
It  w^as  the  result  of  a new  principle  of  selection. 
Instead  of  borrowing  from  many  sources  or  of 
modifying  the  forms  to  produce  an  arbitrary  per- 
fection, it  selected  from  the  scene  itself  its  salient 
features,  eliminating  the  unessentials  and  compress- 
ing the  whole  into  a vivid  synthesis.  And  the  lat- 
ter included  not  merely  the  external  appearance, 
but  the  inward  spirit  of  the  scene. 

Through  communing  with  nature,  these  men 
acquired  so  strong  a sympathy  with  their  subject 

[m] 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


that  the  mood  of  their  own  spirit  became  reflected 
in  nature;  their  works  interpreted  their  own  souls 
in  terms  of  nature ; they  were  nature-poets.  It  was 
in  this  respect  that  their  idealism  was  of  a new 
kind,  based,  not  upon  a material  perfection,  but  on 
spiritual  expression.  This  again  was  a very  won- 
derful anticipation  of  what  came  to  be  the  need 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  In  the  rapid  advance 
of  materialism,  the  claims  of  spirit  were  being 
overlooked;  and  not  the  least  of  the  benefits  con- 
ferred on  painting  by  the  men  of  Barbizon,  was 
this  restoration  of  spirit  to  its  proper  relation  to 
matter.  They  became,  one  might  almost  say,  the 
religious  painters  of  the  century.  Add  to  this 
loftiness  of  motive  the  fact  that  they  were  in  a 
technical  sense  excellent  craftsmen,  and  the  im- 
portance of  the  influence  which  they  exerted  upon 
the  first  of  our  France-seeking  students  may  be 
realised.  It  was  fortunate  also  that  these  students 
— William  Morris  Hunt,  George  Inness,  and  John 
La  Farge — were  men  of  commanding  ability. 
The  impressions  gleaned  at  Barbizon  were  trans- 
mitted by  them  to  other  painters  in  this  country,  and 
to  the  general  public,  with  a degree  of  authority 
and  persuasiveness  that  have  given  the  principles 
involved  a firm  and  lasting  hold  upon  the  American 
imagination. 

Hunt,  the  oldest  of  the  trio  and  the  first  to  go 
[125] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


abroad,  was  born  at  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  in  1824. 
He  entered  Harvard,  but  was  compelled  by  poor 
health  to  seek  the  benefit  of  a change  of  climate, 
and  accordingly  went  to  Diisseldorf  and  joined  the 
Art  Academy,  with  the  intention  of  becoming  a 
sculptor.  This  was  in  1846.  Nine  months  later 
he  moved  to  Paris,  suddenly  altered  his  plans  for 
the  future,  and  determined  to  be  a painter.  Per- 
haps the  fame  of  a certain  picture,  Eojnans  of  the 
Decadence,  and  the  extraordinary  interest  which  its 
appearance  at  the  Salon  of  1847  aroused,  had 
something  to  do  with  stimulating  his  imagination 
in  a new  direction ; at  any  rate  it  was  the  painter  of 
this  picture  whom  he  sought  as  a teacher.  He 
joined  the  studio  of  Couture.  The  latter,  a pupil 
of  Delaroche,  had  been  trained  in  the  “ classic  ” 
manner  of  drawing  the  figure,  which  may  be  sum- 
med up  in  Tennyson’s  description  of  INIaud: 

**  Faultily  fiiultless,  icily  regular,  splendidly  null, 

Dead  perfection,  no  more.” 

But  in  Couture’s  case  the  frigid  and  sculptor- 
like character  of  the  so-called  “ ideal  ” figure  was 
warmed  with  a romantic  ardour  and  enriched  with 
colour.  It  was  this  combination  of  qualities  that 
had  created  a sensation;  for  it  seemed  to  reconcile 
the  conservatism  of  the  older  men  with  the  eager 
throb  of  younger  life.  Yet  as  a matter  of  fact, 
the  picture,  like  its  subject,  belonged  to  an  older 

[126] 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 

order  of  things  and  had  no  relation  to  the  spirit  of 
the  age.  The  latter,  in  scientific  and  mechanical 
affairs,  was  directed  to  an  exact  study  of  the  cause 
and  effect  of  natural  phenomena;  in  literature,  like- 
wise, to  a realistic  examination  of  present  life. 
This  picture,  with  its  elaborate  classic  setting,  com- 
posed of  fragments  of  Roman  architecture  ce- 
mented together  by  the  painter’s  imagination, 
with  its  crowd  of  voluptuaries,  men  and  women, 
under  the  influence  of  liquor,  in  shameless  aban- 
donment, contained  an  element  of  perennial  truth. 
By  inference  men  could  draw  from  it  a moral  for 
the  present,  but  it  was  hidden  under  a masquerad- 
ing of  the  past.  Zola,  presenting  the  same  moral, 
clothed  in  the  actual  forms  of  the  rich  and  poor  of 
his  own  time,  thereby  made  it  sting  the  conscience 
of  the  public.  That  was  shocking,  for  people  do 
not  like  the  naked  truth.  In  this  picture  there  was 
no  such  violation  of  propriety;  the  truth  was,  as 
it  were,  only  nude;  nakedness  diffused  through  a 
prism  of  make-believe  perfection — art  not  life. 

But  there  was  a contemporary  of  Couture’s 
whose  ideal  was  art  and  life;  life  in  art,  art  vitalised 
by  the  expression  of  life.  As  yet,  however,  he  was 
only  that  ‘‘  wild  man  of  the  woods,”  Jean  Francois 
Millet,  unheeded.  He,  too,  in  his  early  struggle 
for  bread  had  painted  “ ideal  nudes  ”;  now  his  sub- 
jects were  the  peasants  of  Barbizon,  rough-hewn 
types  of  men  and  women,  coarsened  and  twisted  out 

[m] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


of  shape  by  toil,  as  far  removed  as  possible  from 
Couture’s. 

Yet  Hunt,  and  it  is  a strange  fact,  became, 
during  the  latter  part  of  his  sojourn  in  France,  as 
strongly  influenced  by  Millet  as  he  had  been  by 
Couture.  Perhaps  it  may  be  explained  in  this 
way:  Starting  out  with  the  intention  of  being  a 

sculptor,  he  had  evidently  a prior  sensitiveness  to 
form;  then,  as  he  came  to  know  pictures,  the  feel- 
ing for  colour  was  aroused;  he  found  both  satisfied 
in  Couture’s  work.  Moreover,  he  had  come  out  to 
learn,  and  the  student’s  first  craving  is  for  definite 
formularies.  Couture,  well  equipped  with  set 
methods  and  maxims,  could  show  his  pupils  exactly 
“ how  to  do  it,”  and  in  his  studio  Hunt  remained 
for  several  years,  an  enthusiastic  follower  of  the 
master’s  technique. 

But  gradually  the  eagerness  of  the  mere  student 
abated.  The  influence  of  Millet,  coming  later, 
touched  a maturer  need.  Firstly,  it  gave  him  the 
inspiration  of  a motive.  Millet’s  uncouth  simplic- 
ity of  truth  struck  a vein  of  sincerity  in  himself. 
It  taught  him  a notion  of  the  “ ideal  ” very  differ- 
ent from  the  one  aimed  at  and  inculcated  in  Cou- 
ture’s studio — an  idealisation,  not  of  unnatural  per- 
fection, but  of  human  nature  as  it  is,  not  of  high- 
wrought  passion  and  romance,  but  of  the  fulfilment 
of  the  daily  routine  of  duty.  It  w^as  a motive  at 
once  artistic  and  moral,  based  on  Truth.  And 

[ 128] 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 

secondly,  it  was  presented  with  a correspondingly 
simple  sincerity  of  technique.  Millet’s  strong, 
broad  generalisation  was  as  far  removed  from  the 
exquisite  refinement  of  Couture’s  method  as  from 
the  niggling  exactness  of  the  Dusseldorfians ; its 
grand  sweep  of  line  and  dignity  of  masses  were  not 
obviously  enforced,  but  to  be  discovered  under  the 
guise  of  clumsy  forms;  it  was  a method  in  which 
nothing  is  sacrificed  to  truth  of  nature,  and  yet 
commonplace  is  always  overcome  by  art. 

It  was  a technique  so  peculiarly  the  product  of 
Millet’s  own  conscience  that  it  was  not  to  be  learned 
by  anyone  else;  and  the  principle  which  it  involved, 
of  beginning  with  nature  and  ending  in  art,  was  so 
different  from  Couture’s,  which  was  art  only,  first, 
last,  and  all  the  time,  that  Hunt  never  wholly 
emerged  from  the  conflict  of  these  two  influences. 
He  attempted  to  affect  a compromise,  but  with 
only  partial  success,  and  remained  to  the  end  a 
painter  of  whom  more  might  have  been  expected 
than  he  actually  achieved,  since  he  never  gained  the 
assurance  of  belief  in  himself  which  is  possessed  by 
many  a smaller  man. 

Returning  home,  he  settled  in  Newport,  Rhode 
Island,  and  then  moved  to  Boston,  where  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life  was  spent.  Around  him 
gathered  a number  of  pupils,  impressed  by  the 
charm  of  his  personality  and  the  dignity  of  his 
artistic  ideals.  This  in  itself  helped  to  impede  his 

[129] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


own  technical  advancement,  since  it  kept  him  over- 
occupied with  theories  and  limited  his  opportunities 
for  the  actual  practice  of  painting. 

Yet  this  sacrifice  of  himself  certainly  redounded 
to  the  benefit  of  others,  for  he  sowed  the  seed  which 
has  since  grown  and  multiplied.  The  gist  of  his 
teaching  was  that  it  is  not  the  subject  but  the  way 
in  which  the  subject  is  rendered,  that  determines 
the  artistic  merit  of  a picture;  that  in  the  hands  of 
an  artist,  any  subject,  no  matter  how  simple  and 
insignificant,  can  be  made  artistic,  and  that  this 
artistic  quality,  a product  and  expression  of  him- 
self, is  what  the  painter  should  aim  chiefly  to  em- 
body in  his  pictures.  Furthermore,  that  the  ideal 
of  good  brush  work  is  not  to  concern  one’s  self  with 
niggling  precision  of  detail  for  detail’s  sake,  but 
to  obtain  truth  of  character  and  expression. 

A writer  in  the  ’sixties  describes  his  work  as 
naive,”  which,  from  our  present  point  of  view, 
it  certainly  was  not.  There  is  nothing  in  it  of  the 
child-spirit ; on  the  contrary,  very  much  of  the  virile 
and  intellectual.  But  it  displayed,  what  was  an 
unfamiliar  quality  to  his  contemporaries,  a capac- 
ity for  seeing  artistic  possibilities  in  the  simplest 
subjects. 

Turn  to  the  accompanying  reproduction  of  The 
Bathers,  There  is  here  involved  no  elevated  con- 
ception, as  in  Cole’s  Course  of  Empire,  nor  gran- 
deur of  visible  appearance,  as  in  Church’s  Coto- 

[130] 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  BUTTERFLY  William  Morris  Hunt 


"W  "WUNT'S  influence  and  teaching  were  directed  against  the  popular  interest 
a — ~M  in  the  subject-matter  of  a picture,  and  on  behalf  of  the  claims  of  paint- 
ing  as  a form  of  expression.  Here  the  child's  figure  is  but  an  excuse  for 
the  broad  and  simple  rendering  of  the  tones  and  texture  of  the  flesh  and  the 
movement  of  the  figure. 

In  the  Collection  of  Mrs.  Richard  Morris  Hunt 


From  « CopUy  PHnt,  Copyright,  1898,  by  Curtu  and  Camera. 


THE  liATHERS 

>>  ILLIAM  MoilIUS  HrVT 

n''"  "-f  lon,..,,olden  in  the 

.unhght.  afforded  the  artistic  motires  of  this  heuutifut  picture. 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


pacci,  yet,  as  a picture,  it  is  vastly  superior  to  either. 
The  reason  is  that  in  the  making  of  it  the  artist’s 
motive  was  a joy  in  the  possibilities  of  beautiful 
expression  that  the  subject  offered.  First,  the 
poise  of  the  figure,  the  elastic  force  of  the  body  and 
limbs,  suspended  rather  than  resting  in  perfect  ease 
of  balance;  secondly,  the  charm  of  colour  as  the 
sunlight  plays  over  the  nude  form,  glistening  upon 
the  ripples  of  flesh,  illuminating  the  shadowed  parts 
and  kindling  all  the  tones  into  a healthy,  vigourous 
glow.  Everything  else  in  the  picture  is  made  con- 
tributory to  these  two  possibilities  of  beautiful  ex- 
pression— poise  and  sunlit  flesh-colour — so  that,  if 
you  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  the  original  at  the 
recent  Comparative  Exhibition,  I think  you  will 
agree  that  it  communicated  a heightened  sense  of 
joy  in  life. 

If  this  is  so,  then,  you  will  observe  this  picture 
after  all  has  an  idea  involved  in  its  subject  that 
appeals  to  the  imagination.  We  perhaps  reach  the 
heart  of  the  matter  when  we  realise  that  an  idea 
may  be  an  abstract  one,  not  connected  with  any 
definite  individual  or  incident,  about  which  a great 
deal  can  be  said  in  words,  or  which  can  be  described 
in  the  form  of  a story.  But  the  trouble  is  that  so 
many  people  are  lacking  in  imagination,  or,  even  if 
they  have  imagination,  it  is  not  stirred  by  feeling, 
it  needs  to  have  the  idea  conveyed  to  it  through  a 
tale  of  words.  I wonder  how  many  people  cared 

[13S] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


about  Millet’s  Man  With  a Hoe  before  Mr. 
Markham  versified  its  appeal,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  how  many  of  those  who  had  appreciated  it 
already  found  the  appreciation  increased  by  the 
verbal  exposition  ? 

Hunt’s  pictures  included  portraits,  figure-sub- 
jects, and  landscapes,  some  of  the  last  named  con- 
taining sheep,  which  are  painted  with  a truth  of 
character  that  recalls  the  work  of  Jacque.  At  a 
time  when  precision  of  detail  was  apt  to  be  con- 
sidered the  highest  requisite  in  a picture.  Hunt 
substituted  for  it  truth  of  character  and  expression. 
Some  of  his  portraits  are  said  to  have  been  indif- 
ferent likenesses,  hut  the  representation,  as  it 
appears  in  the  picture,  is  invested  with  distinction 
and  seeming  individuality.  His  last  important 
works  were  two  decorative  paintings  for  the  Capi- 
tol at  Albany,  which,  owing  to  a threatened  collapse 
of  the  dome,  have  been  hidden  by  a ceiling,  and  have 
perished.  They  were  executed  under  a very  se- 
vere pressure  of  having  to  he  finished  by  a certain 
date,  and  the  strain  proved  too  much  for  the  artist. 
He  died  the  following  year  (1879),  at  the  Isle  of 
Shoals. 

ararararjrararjTjrarar 

George  Inness  was  a pathfinder  whose  original- 
ity and  fiery  zeal  for  nature  blazed  a new  trail  that 
has  led  on  to  the  present  notable  expansion  of 
American  landscape  painting.  Born  at  Newburg, 

[134] 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


New  York,  in  1825,  the  son  of  a retired  grocer,  he 
was  apprenticed  as  a youth  to  an  engraver.  This, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  the  profession  in  which  those 
landscape  painters  of  the  Hudson  River  School, 
Kensett,  Durand,  and  Casilear,  began  by  achieving 
success.  In  fact,  at  that  time  it  was  the  one  branch 
of  art  most  likely  to  yield  a comfortable  livelihood, 
but  it  was  of  too  exacting  a nature  for  the  frail 
health  of  George  Inness.  His  father  would  have 
set  him  up  in  business,  but  the  son’s  heart  was  reso- 
lutely fixed  on  things  artistic,  and  he  sought  in- 
struction from  a French  painter  residing  in  New 
York.  For  the  rest,  Inness  was  his  own  teacher, 
though  the  tenor  of  his  career  was  changed  into  a 
new  direction  by  the  influence  of  the  Barbizon 
artists. 

He  went  abroad  in  1850,  and  again  for  a longer 
period  in  1870.  We  will  attempt  to  summarise  the 
impressions  derived  from  the  two  visits. 

Hitherto  he  had  been  chiefly  engaged  in  studying 
form,  in  learning  to  draw  the  appearance  of  trees 
and  rocks  and  ground,  of  water  and  sky.  It  may 
have  been  his  short  experience  in  engraving  or  the 
example  of  Durand  and  Kensett  that  set  his  study 
in  this  direction,  but  the  thoroughness  with  which 
he  pursued  it  was  from  within  himself,  an  instinct 
for  analysis,  derived  perhaps  from  his  Scotch  an- 
cestry. 

He  learned,  first  of  all,  that  principle  of  syn- 
[135] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


thesis,  of  selection  and  arrangement,  to  which  I 
have  already  alluded,  that  the  best  art  does  not 
consist  in  representing  everything  in  sight,  but  in 
discovering  what  are  the  salient  and  essential  char- 
acteristics, and  in  setting  these  down  in  a masterly 
summary.  He  learned,  in  effect,  the  value  of 
omitting  details  so  as  to  secure  additional  force  for 
the  ensemble;  and  his  previous  rigour  of  minute 
study  now  Iielped  him,  for  it  is  recognised  among 
artists  that  only  he  who  has  learned  to  put  in,  can 
he  successful  in  leaving  out. 

lie  learned,  in  the  second  place,  a new  motive: 
no  longer  to  look  for  “views”  in  nature,  but  to 
study  fragments  of  it  intimately;  to  render  por- 
traits of  nature,  in  which  the  local  facts  should  be 
of  importance,  not  as  facts,  but  as  vehicles  of  ex- 
pression. It  was  a mood  of  nature,  or  a mood 
aroused  in  himself,  that  he  strove  to  embody;  and, 
by  thus  becoming  a subjective  painter,  he  cut  him- 
self off  entirely  from  the  objectivity  of  contem- 
porary American  landscape.  And  the  peculiar 
quality  of  his  subjective  motive  is  interesting. 

In  his  temperament  the  logical  was  combined 
with  the  spiritual.  He  was  given  to  reasoning 
upon  the  eternities,  and  for  many  years  was  a pro- 
fessed Swedenborgian.  Thus  he  was  particularly 
drawn  toward  Corot,  in  whose  work  he  recognised 
the  spirituality.  In  fact,  Corot  and  Inness  both 
approximated  to  what  we  shall  later  find  to  be  one 

[136] 


MIDSUMMER 


George  Inness 


rpi  E suggestion  of  a mood  of  nature,  or,  if  you  will,  of  the  artist's  own  mood,  induced  hy  the 
appearance  of  nature.  In  the  massy  foliage,  piled-up  clouds,  and  spread  of  landscape  there  is 
a sense  of  opulence  and  vigor,  hut  all  activity  is  suspended  in  the  drowsy  warmth,  as  if  the  earth 
mre  taktnff  a msta  The  picture,  painted  in  1875,  ilhadrates  the  artist's  middle  styU,  wherein  details 
have  hec^  absorbed  into  a synthesis  of  effect,  full  of  suayestion  both  of  the  scene  as  a whole  and  of  the 
impression  it  makes  upon  the  imagination. 

In  the  Collection  of  James  W,  Ellsworth,  Esq. 


EARLY  MOONRISE--FLORIDA 


George  Ikxess 


^ W ^ HE  forms  of  the  trees  have  melted  into  droivsi/  shapes,  massed  against  the 
a himinositg  of  the  sky.  The  moonlight,  ereeping  over  the  shadowed 

meadow,  touches  into  soft  prominence  an  object  here  and  there.  The 
picture  is  a fine  example  of  the  expressional  value  of  synthesis. 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


of  the  underlying  principles  of  motive  in  Japanese 
art.  It  is,  in  effect,  to  distinguish  between  “ap- 
pearance’’ and  “reality”;  to  regard  the  material 
visibilities  of  nature,  subject  as  they  are  to  change, 
as  being  mere  appearance,  while  the  reality  is  the 
inward  spirit,  a portion  of  the  Universal,  Eternal 
Spirit,  that  is  embodied  in  the  impermanent  appear- 
ances of  matter.  Both  Corot  and  Inness  came  in 
time,  like  the  Japanese  painter,  Hashimoto  Gaho, 
to  discover  for  themselves  a method  of  painting  in 
which  they  carried  the  principle  of  synthesis  as  far 
as  possible,  so  as  to  subordinate  the  assertion  of 
form  to  a suggestion  of  its  essence  or  spirit.  And 
lest  some  reader  have  no  sympathy  with  this  trans- 
cendental attitude  toward  nature,  I would  remind 
him  that,  if  he  is  fond  of  nature,  he  must  have  ex- 
perienced some  occasion  when  to  lie  upon  the 
ground  and  let  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  irrespective 
of  this  or  that  feature  of  the  landscape,  soak  into 
him,  was  pleasure  enough.  If  so,  it  was  the  result 
of  physical  contentment,  leading  to  a satisfaction 
of  the  emotions;  and  from  the  latter  to  a conscious- 
ness of  spiritual  refreshment  or  elation  is  but  a 
step,  to  many  temperaments  a natural  and  inevi- 
table one. 

This  progression  of  Inness’s  motive  and  manner 
of  painting,  however,  was  a gradual  one.  Not  all 
at  once  could  he  free  himself  from  the  habit  of 
minute  representation.  His  earliest  pictures  are 

[139] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 

liney,  filled  with  details  carefully  drawn  in  with  the 
brush.  Later,  his  style,  of  which  Peace  and  Plenty 
at  the  Metropolitan  IMuseum  is  a good  example, 
becomes  broader;  he  no  longer  draws,  but  paints, 
with  the  brush;  the  objects  begin  to  count  as  masses. 
Notwithstanding  the  large  size  of  the  canvas  and 
the  multiplying  of  features,  which  prevent  us 
grasping  the  scene  as  a whole,  the  impression  which 
it  produces  on  the  imagination  is  a tolerably  single 
one,  very  well  summed  up  in  the  title.  It  is  a nota- 
ble step  in  the  direction  of  rendering  the  expres- 
sion of  the  landscape.  But  compare  the  other 
example  illustrated  here.  Midsummer,  and  note  the 
progress  which  has  been  made  in  the  way  of  syn- 
thesis. How^  masterful  is  the  characterisation  of 
the  great  oak  tree!  We  recognise  at  once  its  lusty 
vigour  and  the  luxuriant  opulence  of  its  massy 
green  foliage.  Yet  note  how  little  detail  or  even 
modelling  it  presents;  it  is  painted  flatly  in  broad, 
simple  masses  of  tones  of  green,  differing  from 
one  another  in  the  amount  of  light  which  they  re- 
flect. 

Later  his  pictures  have  still  less  solidity  of  paint- 
ing; the  pigment  has  been  spread  thinly  with  a large 
brush,  and  at  close  range  the  broad  flat  spaces  of 
colour  may  seem  to  be  perfunctory  and  careless. 
In  reality,  they  are  a mingling  of  subtly  differenti- 
ated tones,  pricked  here  and  there  wdth  an  accent 
of  detail;  and,  when  viewed  from  the  proper  stand- 

[140] 


o -s; 


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<50 

^ .o 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  Johx  La  Faroe 


RARE  and  lovely  instance  of  this  artist’s 
rendering  of  the  nude. 

In  the  Collection  of  Otto  Heinigke,  Esq. 


BEGINNING  OF  FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


point,  a short  distance  from  the  frame,  are  full  of 
meaning  and  suggestion.  These  landscapes  are  the 
product  of  a mind  that,  in  the  matter  of  painting, 
had  freed  itself  from  the  necessity  of  conscious 
intellectual  processes  and  entered  into  liberty  of 
spirit,  and  of  a hand  become  so  facile  by  practice 
that  it  moved  in  immediate  and  faithful  response  to 
the  suggestion  of  the  mind.  They  are  the  expres- 
sions, not  of  what  is  palpable  and  material,  but  of 
an  emotional  or  spiritual  mood. 

The  artist  died  suddenly,  during  a visit  to  Scot- 
land, in  1894. 


[143] 


CHAPTER  VIII 


JOHN  LA  FAROE 

JOHN  LA  FxVRGE  was  born  in  New  York 
in  1835,  and  grew  up  under  conditions  very 
favourable  to  the  acquisition  of  superior 
knowledge  and  taste.  For  his  father’s  house  in 
Washington  Square,  well  stocked  with  books  and 
pictures  and  prints,  was  a rendezvous  of  cultivated 
people,  many  of  them  belonging  to  families  who 
had  escaped  the  revolutions  in  F ranee  and  San  Do- 
mingo. Thus  his  classical  studies  at  school,  which 
were  of  the  old-fashioned,  extensive,  and  thought- 
ful kind,  v/ere  supplemented  by  the  literary, 
artistic,  and  critical  atmosphere  of  the  home  life. 

In  185G  he  visited  Paris,  residing  with  his  cousin, 
Paul  de  St.  Victor,  a writer  and  critic,  in  whose 
house  he  came  into  direct  touch  with  the  best 
thought  of  Paris  of  that  day.  During  his  “ wan- 
der-year ” in  Europe  he  visited  Munich,  Dresden, 
and  London,  but  returned  home  at  length  with  the 
conviction  that  the  most  important  developments 
of  the  day  were  represented  by  the  Barbizon  artists, 
Rousseau,  Corot,  and  IMillet,  and  by  Delacroix. 
He  now  entered  a lawyer’s  office  in  New  York,  for, 

[ 141  ] 


JOHN  LA  FAROE 


as  he  says,  “No  one  has  struggled  more  against 
his  destiny  than  I;  nor  did  I for  many  years 
acquiesce  in  being  a painter.  Though  I learned 
the  methods  and  studied  the  problems  of  my  art, 
I had  hoped  to  find  some  other  mode  of  life, 
some  other  way  of  satisfying  the  desire  for  a con- 
templation of  truth,  unbiased,  free,  and  unde- 
tached.” 

To  my  mind  there  is  something  very  interesting 
in  this  slow,  gradual  growth  of  La  Large  toward 
the  vocation  in  which  he  has  since  become  so  distin- 
guished, that  he  may  be  reckoned  the  most  pro- 
foundly learned  artist  that  America  has  yet  pro- 
duced. His  love  of  art  antedated  his  professional 
practice  of  it ; he  pursued  it,  first  of  all,  as  a branch 
of  the  wider  culture  in  which  he  was  training  him- 
self ; and,  at  an  age  when  most  students  are  trying 
to  adapt  some  little  particular  phase  of  art  to 
their  own  purpose,  he  was  seeking  to  discover  its 
relation  to  the  large  field  of  human  thought  and 
life.  In  his  case,  for  a time,  the  particular  and  the 
personal  aspect  of  art  was  lost  sight  of  in  the  uni- 
versal aspect. 

What  I have  in  mind  is  the  difference  between 
thinking  and  working  outward  from  a centre,  and 
thinking  and  working  inward  toward  the  centre 
from  the  horizon  of  a large  circumference.  For 
example,  the  average  student  starts  with  learning 
to  draw  and  paint  the  human  figure.  This  is  his 

[ 145  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


tiny  centre,  and  from  it  he  begins  to  broaden  out  a 
little,  arranging  his  figures  into  compositions,  and 
by  degrees,  perhaps,  making  them  the  source  of 
some  kind  of  expressional  appeal.  But  as  a gen- 
eral rule,  the  start  made  in  this  way  does  not  lead 
very  far;  the  circle  around  the  centre  is  circum- 
scribed; the  picture  has  little  capacity  to  stir  the 
emotions  or  the  imagination,  and  shows  a tendency 
to  be  mostly  a manipulation,  more  or  less 
dexterous,  of  the  thing  it  started  with — the 
drawing  and  painting  of  the  human  figure.  On 
the  other  hand,  suppose  a man  whose  mind  has 
been  habitually  directed  toward  the  larger  aspects 
of  human  life  and  its  relations  to  its  seen  and  un- 
seen environment,  who  has  learned  to  regard  the 
scheme  of  men  and  things  as  parts  of  a vastness 
of  design,  the  limits  of  which  melt  into  infinity  of 
time  and  space.  He  analyses  the  relations  of  these 
parts  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole  Universe, 
discovers  principles  of  agreement  and  antagonism, 
and  works,  not  by  rule  of  thumb  or  at  the  uncertain 
beck  of  temperament,  but  along  the  lines  of  a plan 
that,  for  him  at  least,  affords  the  basis  of  a sound 
hypothesis  for  motive  and  method.  When  a man, 
possessed  of  this  habit  of  seeing  things  in  relation 
to  the  Universal,  draws  inward  to  the  particular 
that  lies  under  his  hand  to  be  done,  he  brings  to  the 
doing  of  it  qualities  of  mind  and  principles  of 
practice  that  make  the  particular  no  longer  a httle 

[146] 


POMONA  John  La  Fakge 

DESIGN  for  the  stairway  in  the  house  of  the  late  Mr.  William  H.  Vanderbilt. 

In  the  Collection  of  Otto  Heinigke,  Esq. 


AND  XICODEMUS 

'wrTTC'  . . JoHx  La  Far( 

from  the  moo„.  ,n  conjunct, on  ,clth  the  faint  Hal 


I',  the  Collection  of  William  T.  Evans,  Esq. 


JOHN  LA  FAROE 


centre  from  which  to  spread  out  tentatively,  but 
the  white-hot  core  into  which  are  fused  the  forces 
that  he  has  gathered  from  outside. 

It  has  been  so  with  La  Farge.  Just  as  art  is 
to  him  only  one  of  the  phases  of  material  and 
spiritual  being,  so  an  individual  w^ork  of  art,  while 
suggesting  to  him  that  it  is  all  sufficient  in  itself,  a 
complete  harmonious  unity,  will  yet  be  the  greater 
in  its  power  to  move  and  hold  the  imagination  if  it 
suggests  also  that  it  is  but  a fragment  of  a uni- 
versal harmony  and  unity.  He  conceives  of  a 
“ Universal  Geometry,”  with  wFich  man’s  separate, 
fragmentary  ‘‘plans”  of  arranged  beauty — ^his 
works  of  art — can  be  and  should  be  co-ordinated. 
Space  will  not  allow  me  to  pursue  this  idea,  except 
to  suggest  an  analogy  to  it  in  the  laying  out  of 
Central  Park,  New  York,  by  the  late  Mr.  Fred- 
erick Law  Olmsted.  As  you  traverse  it  you  are 
confronted  with  a great  number  of  separate 
vistas;  they  appear  one  after  the  other,  very  dif- 
ferent in  character,  yet  each  seems  complete  in  it- 
self. A fuller  knowledge  reveals  that  each  is  har- 
moniously related  to  the  others,  and  that  all  are 
correlated  to  what,  for  the  purpose  of  illustration, 
straining  the  words,  we  may  call  the  “ Universal 
Geometry  ” of  the  whole  plan.  And  although  this 
ultimate  harmonising  of  all  the  different  ingredi- 
ents can  nowhere  or  at  any  one  time  be  seen  with 
the  eye,  yet,  when  it  has  been  once  realised,  it  per- 

[149] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAlSr  PAINTING 


suades  the  imagination  to  find  a greater  beauty  than 
before  in  each  part. 

When  La  Farge  at  length  determined  to  follow 
the  practice  of  art  as  a profession,  he  studied  for 
a time  under  Hunt,  at  Newport,  which  place,  since 
1860,  along  with  New  York,  has  been  identified 
with  his  work.  The  latter,  apart  from  decoration, 
which  will  stand  as  the  most  striking  manifestation 
of  his  genius,  has  consisted  of  oil  paintings  of 
landscape  and  flowers,  of  drawings  for  illustration, 
and  of  water-colours  of  scenes  in  Samoa  and  Ja- 
pan. The  last  named  are  studies  of  the  luxuriant 
colouring  of  vegetation,  sky,  water,  and  rock, 
rapidly  brushed  in  under  the  spontaneous  enthusi- 
asm of  the  moment,  and,  to  some  extent,  as  notes 
or  records  of  colour,  to  be  elaborated  later  in  some 
window  or  wall  painting.  His  drawings,  some  of 
which  were  made  to  illustrate  poems  by  Tennyson 
or  Browning,  are  of  unusual  interest,  powerful  and 
subtle  in  characterisation,  and  beautiful  also  as  a 
decoration  of  the  page. 

It  is  as  a colourist  that  he  has  gained  distinction 
and  influenced  others.  Not  that  a man  can  learn 
to  be  a colourist;  but  the  natural  gift  for  it  has  to 
be  cultivated,  and  in  discovering  new  secrets  for 
himself  he  has  been  a guide  to  others.  During  his 
early  travel  abroad  he  was  naturally  drawn  toward 
the  work  of  the  old  Venetian  colourists;  but,  being 
an  original  genius,  he  could  look  outside  of  tradi- 

[150] 


JOHN  LA  FAROE 


tion,  and  was  greatly  interested  in  the  colour  ex- 
periments of  Holman  Hunt  and  John  Evereftt 
Millais,  two  members  of  the  Pre-Raphaelite 
brotherhood,  and  of  Ford  Madox  Brown. 

It  was  one  of  the  tenets  of  these  young  painters 
to  represent  everything  exactly  as  they  saw  it,  and 
accordingly  to  give  each  object  its  local  ” colour. 
Other  painters  of  the  day  imitated  the  prevailing 
tone  of  old  pictures,  that  was  partly  the  result  of 
original  use  of  glazes,  partly  of  the  fading  out  of 
colour,  of  the  accumulation  of  dirt,  and  of  succes- 
sive varnishings.  These  men,  however,  put  their 
bright  colours  in  a vivid  and  harsh  juxtaposition 
that,  while  it  might  be  true  to  the  local  tints  of 
nature,  was  artistically  false.  Could  the  natural  and 
artistic  truths  be  reconciled?  If  so,  then  the  limited 
range  of  colours  used  in  the  convention  of  Venetian 
painting  could  be  enlarged,  reinforced,  and  intensi- 
fied by  the  brilliance  of  nature’s  colouring. 

Briefly,  La  Farge  solved  the  problem.  By  de- 
grees he  discovered  what  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
refer  to  later,  that  the  imitating  of  the  local  colours 
is  only  a part  of  truth  to  nature.  To  confine  one’s 
self  to  this  is  like  taking  fish  out  of  the  water  in 
which  they  belong.  The  local  colours  must  be  rep- 
resented in  their  own  medium  of  lighted  atmos- 
phere, which  surrounds  all  things  and  draws  them 
together  into  a natural  appearance  of  tone.  Light, 
in  a word,  became  the  study  of  La  Farge;  light  in 

[151] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


its  operation  upon  local  colour;  in  the  infinite  di- 
versity of  its  way  of  striking  objects,  directly  or 
by  reflection  or  refraction;  and  the  diminution  of 
light  on  objects,  as  things  recede  from  the  eye, 
owing  to  the  layers  of  intervening  atmosphere.  He 
noted  also  that  under  the  influence  of  light,  a local 
colour  is  made  more  or  less  brilliant  by  the  juxta- 
position of  other  local  colours,  which  in  turn  are 
similarly  affected.  This  briefly  summarises  the 
principles  gradually  reached  by  La  Farge,  as  the 
result  partly  of  his  own  observations  and  partly  of 
the  research  of  scientists.  Working  thus  independ- 
ently, he  anticipated,  as  we  shall  see  later,  the 
French  artist,  Manet,  and  the  Impressionists,  in 
applying  their  principles  to  painting. 

He  began  by  working  on  subjects  of  still-life 
and  flowers,  turning  later  to  landscape.  Of  the 
last  he  painted  but  a few  examples,  yet  they  are 
very  remarkable.  Like  the  Barbizon  men,  he  de- 
picted only  a fragment  of  nature,  comprehending  it 
with  intimacy  of  feeling,  while,  like  a Pre-Raphael- 
ite, he  attempted  an  actual  portrayal  of  the  local 
colours  of  the  scene;  but  he  went  further  than 
either,  in  what  he  himself  has  called  “ the  render- 
ing of  the  gradations  of  light  and  air  through  wFich 
we  see  form  and  a step  even  beyond  this,  in  that 
he  was  not  satisfled  with  a generalised  appearance 
of  light,  but  sought  to  represent  it  under  special 
aspects  of  time  and  season.  Thus  he  not  only  had 

[ 152  ] 


JOHN  LA  FAROE 


assimilated  the  foremost  movements  of  that  time, 
but  also  anticipated  the  later  studies  of  Manet  and 
Monet.  The  explanation  of  this  fact,  I believe,  is 
that  the  advance  made  by  Manet  and  Monet  was 
based  on  scientific  principles,  upon  the  application 
to  painting  of  that  exact  scrutiny  of  phenomena 
which  was  the  predominate  feature  of  thought  in 
other  phases  of  life,  and  that  La  Farge  is  himself  a 
scientist  as  well  as  an  artist.  He  has  given  an  in- 
cidental corroboration  of  this  in  the  following 
words : “ There  is  in  each  competent  artist  a sort 
of  unconscious  automatic  mathematician,  who,  like 
the  harmonist  in  music,  the  colourist  in  painting, 
resolves  in  his  way  the  problem  of  sight  and  sound 
which  the  scientist  puts  into  an  equation.” 

A nature  so  compounded  of  the  scientific  and  the 
artistic  presents  the  kind  of  soil  in  which  symbol- 
ism flourishes.  In  La  Farge’s  case  it  produced 
some  remarkable  drawings,  such  as  The  Wolf 
Charmer^,  and  attracted  him  toward  the  painting 
of  religious  subjects.  But  this  phase  of  his  work 
we  will  consider  later  in  connection  with  mural 
painting.  For  the  present  let  us  notice  how  this 
combination  of  the  scientific  and  artistic  has  served 
him  in  another  branch  of  decoration,  that  of  col- 
oured windows. 

It  was  a happy  coincidence  that  to  an  artist,  thus 
occupied  with  the  problems  of  light,  should  have 
come  an  opportunity  of  working  in  the  most  trans- 

[153] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


lucent  of  all  mediums — glass.  It  resulted  in  the 
practical  invention  of  a new  kind  of  material,  and 
the  production  in  the  window  of  a richness  and 
subtlety  of  colours  impossible  in  the  older  form  of 
glass. 

To  put  it  as  briefly  as  possible:  the  makers  of  so- 
called  “ stained  glass  ” windows  had  used  what  is 
called  in  the  trade  “ pot-metal,”  that  is  to  say,  glass 
which  is  coloured  in  the  mass,  while  it  is  molten 
in  the  crucible  or  pot.  Such  glass,  which  was  im- 
ported from  England,  was  necessarily  limited  in 
its  range  of  colour,  and  there  was  also  a limit  to  the 
amount  of  richness  and  subtlety  that  could  be  ob- 
tained by  what  is  technically  known  as  “ plating,” 
that  is,  placing  one  tone  or  tint  of  glass  behind 
another.  Accordingly,  the  English  window-makers, 
even  such  as  Burne-Jones,  relied  chiefly  upon  the 
patterns  of  the  forms,  the  drawing  of  the  designs. 
But  this  would  not  satisfy  La  Farge,  who  saw  his 
design  from  its  inception,  not  in  outline,  but  in 
full-fleshed  form  of  colour. 

He  happened  to  be  sick  in  bed,  and,  observing 
some  toilet  articles  made  of  what  is  called  “ opal 
glass  ” in  imitation  of  china,  noticed  that  in  the 
imperfect  specimens  the  material,  like  an  opal,  ex- 
hibited, as  well  as  the  local  colour,  its  complemen- 
tary one.^  He  noticed  also  that  when  the  opal 

* White  light  being  regarded  as  a combination  of  blue,  red, 
and  yellow,  the  complementaries  to  each  is  the  union  of  the 

[154] 


JOHN  LA  FAROE 


glass  was  placed  alongside  a piece  of  pot-metal 
the  opalescent  quality  brought  out  a certain  har- 
mony. He  felt  he  had  discovered  a means  of  in- 
creasing subtlety  of  colour  effects,  and  of  extra 
richness,  too,  for  it  is  a known  fact  that  the  bril- 
liancy of  a colour  is  intensified  by  the  juxtaposition 
of  its  complementary.  Moreover,  his  mind,  travel- 
ling quickly  on,  foresaw  other  possibilities  in  the 
use  of  this  material,  owing  to  the  variety  of  modu- 
lations of  thickness,  surface,  and  colour  to  which  it 
can  be  treated  in  the  making. 

He  began  to  experiment  with  pieces  cut  from 
objects  made  in  opal  glass,  and  then  found  a glass- 
maker  who  was  willing  to  make  him  sheets  of  the 
material.  He  used  it  at  first  in  conjunction  with 
pot-metal,  and  gradually  elaborated  his  methods, 
until,  in  the  Battle  Window  in  Memorial  Hall, 
Harvard  University,  he  combined  a variety  of  ef- 
fects. “ In  this  window,”  he  says,  “ I used  almost 
every  variety  of  glass  that  would  serve,  and  even 
precious  stones,  such  as  amethysts  and  the  like. 
And  I began  to  represent  effects  of  light  and  mod- 
ulation of  shadow  by  using  streaked  glass,  glass 
of  several  colours  blended,  and  glass  wrinkled  into 
forms,  as  well  as  glass  cut  into  shapes,  or  blown 
into  forms;  even  glass  into  which  other  glass  had 

two  others ; thus  red  and  yellow — orange,  is  the  complementary 
of  blue;  blue  and  red — purple,  that  of  yellow;  blue  and  yel- 
low— green,  that  of  red. 


[155] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


been  deposited  in  patterns.  I also  painted  the 
glass  very  much  and  carefully  in  certain  places;  so 
that  in  a rough  way  this  window  is  an  epitome  of 
all  the  varieties  of  glass  that  I have  seen  used  be- 
fore or  since.” 

This  quotation  gives  some  idea  of  the  variations 
possible  in  the  actual  making  of  the  material;  and 
since  the  date  of  the  Battle  Window  (1870)  they 
have  been  multiplied.  What  is  now  called  “ Amer- 
ican glass  ” is  capable  of  unlimited  effects;  and  in 
the  hands  of  a master-colourist,  like  La  Farge,  it 
is  an  instrument  which  produces  the  richest  har- 
monies and  extraordinarily  subtle  orchestration. 
So  far,  no  other  artist  has  approached  him  in  the 
variety  and  originality  of  his  use  of  the  material. 
It  was  the  child  of  this  artist-scientist’s  genius, 
and  has  yielded  to  him  its  choicest  service. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  it  was  in  the  early 
’fifties  that  Hunt,  Inness,  and  La  Farge  sought 
their  first  impressions  in  France,  and  that,  since 
that  date,  the  movement  of  students  had  been  to 
Diisseldorf  and  Munich.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until 
the  close  of  the  third  quarter  of  the  century  that 
Paris  became  the  regular  goal  of  American  stu- 
dents. 


[ 156  ] 


AUTUMN 


John  La  Faroe 


^ W ^HI8  -figure,  notwithstanding  its  classical  draperg, 
# has  no  flavor  of  the  academic.  The  type  of  the 
head  is  not  what  is  popularly  considered 
“ideal.”  But  the  main  difference,  as  it  is  the  chief 
beauty,  lies  in  the  subtlety  of  the  color,  particularly  in 
the  various  reflected  and  refracted  lights  of  the  drapery. 

In  the  Collection  of  John  Gellatly,  Esq. 


THE  PORTR  AIT 


N erampte  of  „n‘Hde«r’ subject,  occordlng  to  the  academic  potnt 
of  view;  sweetened,  however,  with  a tittle  tinge  of  eenUment, 


CHAPTER  IX 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE — ^THE  ACADEMIC 

The  year  1876  is  a memorable  landmark  in 
our  industrial  and  artistic  development. 
Then  it  was  that  the  Centennial  Exposi- 
tion at  Philadelphia  revealed  for  the  first  time  to 
numbers  of  our  people  the  artistic  resources  of  the 
Old  World.  They  were  displayed  not  only  in  pic- 
tures and  sculpture,  but  in  the  products  of  fac- 
tories and  workshops,  and  the  lesson  of  the  occasion 
was  the  commercial  value  as  well  as  the  desirable- 
ness of  beauty.  To  the  superior  attractiveness  of 
the  foreign  articles,  in  which  the  skill  of  the  maker 
had  been  supplemented  by  artistic  design  and 
treatment,  neither  merchants  nor  public  could  be 
blind;  and  when,  upon  the  close  of  the  Exposition, 
a large  number  of  these  objects  were  presented  to 
the  City  of  Philadelphia,  they  were  installed  as  a 
permanent  exhibition  of  arts  and  crafts  in  one  of 
the  buildings  at  Fairmount  Park.  Then  it  was 
recognised  that  some  practical  step  should  be  taken 
to  give  technical  and  artistic  training  to  our  own 
craftsmen.  Accordingly,  as  the  result  of  a citi- 
zen’s movement,  was  founded  the  Philadelphia 

[159] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


School  of  Industrial  Art,  the  first  of  its  kind  in 
this  country. 

The  Centennial,  however,  only  quickened  and 
broadened  forces  that  were  already  at  work  in  the 
community.  Gradually  at  first,  and  later  with 
leaps  and  bounds,  the  little  America  of  the  Fathers 
had  grown  into  a vast  continent,  already  too 
small  to  confine  the  impetuous  energies  of  its  peo- 
ple. The  increase  and  diffusion  of  wealth,  and 
the  growing  facilities  of  oceanic  transportation, 
prompted  f oreign  travel,  and  made  it  easy ; the  bar- 
ricades of  national  isolation  were  being  broken 
down,  and  already  the  tide  of  travel  toward  Europe 
was  in  flood. 

The  familiarity  with  the  art  of  the  Old  World, 
thus  made  possible  to  many,  had  already  produced 
concrete  results.  In  1870  the  Museum  of  Fine 
Arts,  Boston,  was  incorporated,  and  the  Metropol- 
itan Museum  of  Art,  New  York,  was  granted  a 
charter  by  the  Legislature,  which  in  the  following 
year,  at  the  request  of  the  municipal  authorities, 
passed  an  Act  making  an  appropriation  for  a 
building  in  Central  Park.  These  new  museums, 
like  the  earlier  Pennsylvania  Academy,  were  or- 
ganised by  business  and  professional  men.  They 
were  the  product  of  the  layman’s  interest  in  art. 
And,  whereas,  in  the  case  of  the  older  institution  in 
Philadelphia,  the  motive  had  been  the  modest  one 
of  introducing  ‘‘  correct  and  elegant  copies  of 

[160] 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


works  of  the  first  masters  in  sculpture  and  paint- 
ing/’ now  the  enterprise  of  the  promoters  was  more 
ambitious,  and  their  wealth  made  it  possible  to  sup- 
plement the  necessary  copies  of  antique  sculpture 
with  original  works  of  painting.  The  American 
amateur  had  begun  to  invade  the  foreign  picture- 
market  and  offer  alluring  inducements  to  private 
owners  to  part  with  their  treasures.  When,  there- 
fore, the  Centennial  Exposition  stirred  the  public 
imagination,  there  was  already  an  active  nucleus 
of  organised  and  private  appreciation  of  art 
around  which  the  extended  interest  could  gather. 
It  served  to  give  immense  impetus  to  a movement 
already  under  way.  But  one  thing  more  was 
needed — a stirring  among  painters  themselves ; and 
this,  by  a happy  chance,  coincided  in  point  of  time 
with  the  Exposition. 

During  1875  and  1876  the  first  harvest  of  Pari- 
sian teaching  reached  our  country.  A group  of 
young  painters  arrived,  trained  in  the  newest  meth- 
ods of  the  French  School,  proclaiming  its  superi- 
ority, and  equipped  to  prove  it.  They  appeared  at 
a moment  when  they  could  do  much  to  draw  at- 
tention to  the  Exposition,  and  also  receive  from  it 
an  indorsement  of  what  they  themselves  stood 
for. 

All  along  the  line  of  artistic  production  it  was 
realised  that  some  approximation  must  be  made  to 
foreign  methods  and  standards  of  taste,  and  here, 

[161] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


at  least  in  the  department  of  painting,  was  a body 
of  enthusiasts,  eager  and  able  to  show  the  way. 

If  you  study  the  magazines  of  the  period,  you 
will  find  the  evidence  of  an  immediate  and  continu- 
ing improvement  in  the  quality  of  the  illustrations. 
It  was  primarily  due  to  the  quick  apprehension  of 
new  talent  on  the  part  of  the  editors,  and  then, 
later,  to  the  additional  opportunity  given  to  the 
artist  by  the  gradual  development  of  the  photo- 
engraving process.  But  this  exceedingly  interest- 
ing chapter  in  our  native  art  is  outside  the  scope 
of  our  present  story.  More  to  the  point  is  it  that 
many  of  these  younger  men  became  teachers  in 
our  art  schools,  and  thus  effectually  spread  the 
knowledge  of  the  new  technique  among  students, 
until  the  French  method  of  teaching  has  become 
the  basis  of  instruction  in  this  country. 

But  the  way  of  these  enthusiasts  was  not  alto- 
gether smooth.  By  the  older  men  of  the  National 
Academy  of  Design  they  were  regarded  somewhat 
as  revolutionaries ; troublesome  disturbers  of  almost 
sacred  traditions;  dangerous,  and  not  to  be  en- 
couraged. Thus  a cleavage  in  the  ranks  of  paint- 
ers ensued.  Some  of  the  older  men,  pre-eminently 
John  La  Farge,  gave  the  new  arrivals  the  sup- 
port of  their  encouragement,  and,  as  a consequence, 
a new  organisation  was  effected.  The  Society 
of  American  Artists  was  founded  in  1877,  and  in- 
corporated the  following  year.  John  La  Farge 

[ 162’] 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


was  elected  president,  and  among  its  early  mem- 
bers were  Robert  Swain  Gifford,  William  Sartain, 
Louis  C.  Tiffany,  J.  Alden  Weir,  Will  H.  Low, 
William  M.  Chase,  J.  H.  Twachtman,  Abbott  H. 
Thayer,  Francis  Lathrop,  and  D.  Maitland  Arm- 
strong. These  names  belong  to  the  years  1877- 
1879,  and  were  supplemented  a little  later  by  those 
of  Frederick  Arthur  Bridgman,  Edwin  H.  Blash- 
field,  George  de  Forest  Brush,  Thomas  Allen,  J. 
Carroll  Beckwith,  Robert  F.  Blum,  Kenyon  Cox, 
Bruce  Crane,  Frank  Duveneck,  Birge  Harrison, 
Frank  Fowler,  George  Inness,  Jr.,  H.  Bolton 
Jones,  Francis  C.  Jones,  George  W.  Maynard, 
Frank  D.  Millet,  John  H.  Niemeyer,  Eastman 
Johnson,  Walter  L.  Palmer,  William  T.  Smedley, 
Dwight  W.  Tryon,  Elihu  Vedder,  Frederick  P. 
Vinton,  Douglas  Volk,  Sarah  C.  Whitman,  George 
Fuller,  Thomas  Hovenden,  William  L.  Picknell, 
Arthur  Quartley,  Charles  S.  Reinhart,  Alexander 
H.  Wyant,  and  Theodore  Robinson. 

With  very  few  exceptions  these  painters  received 
their  training  abroad,  and  for  the  most  part  in 
Paris.  Indeed,  in  those  early  years  admission  to 
the  Society  was  in  the  nature  of  a final  gradua- 
tion of  the  studentship  abroad.  It  is  interesting  to 
recall  this  roll  of  names,  for,  although  William 
Morris  Hunt  and  George  Inness  are  absent,  it  in- 
cludes practically  all  the  men  of  the  advance  guard 
in  that  progress  which  has  put  American  painting 

[lea] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


in  line  with  the  art  of  other  countries.  Nearly 
two-thirds  of  them  are  figure-painters,  and  the  pro- 
duct of  Academic  training.  It  is  this  that  we  have 
now  to  consider. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  the  three  pioneers  in 
the  movement  to  France — Flunt,  La  Farge,  and 
Inness — came  under  influences  that  existed  in  an- 
tagonism to  the  Academic  teaching.  But  it  was 
under  the  latter  that  the  figure-painters  of  the  next 
generation  came.  It  was  natural  enough  that  the 
great  teachers  in  the  official  schools  should  attract 
them.  As  Duveneck  and  Chase  at  Munich  put 
themselves,  respectively,  under  the  famous  Diez 
and  Piloty,  and  Maynard  and  Millet  under  Van 
Lerius  at  the  Academy  at  Antwerp,  so  the  French 
students  clustered  around  such  eminent  masters  as 
Gerome,  Cabanel,  Bouguereau,  Boulanger,  Le- 
febvre,  Eonnat,  and  Carolus  Duran. 

The  last  named  stands  apart  from  the  others  in 
that  he  made  the  actual  brushwork  rather  than  the 
charcoal  drawing  the  foundation  of  his  method. 
Bonnat  also  was  distinct,  because  in  consequence 
of  his  close  study  of  old  Spanish  painting  he  had 
modified  his  Academic  training  with  a strongly 
naturalistic  tendency.  He  painted,  for  example, 
wonderful  portraits  in  which  every  inequality  of 
the  surface  and  texture  of  the  flesh  was  faithfully 
rendered — marvels  of  characteristic  physiognomy. 

[164] 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


On  the  other  hand,  the  rest  of  the  masters  we  have 
mentioned  were  neither  naturalistic  in  their  mo- 
tives nor  skilful  painters  in  their  methods.  Their 
aim  was  beauty  of  individual  forms  and  elegance 
of  line  in  composition;  the  basis  of  their  method 
was  perfectly  finished  drawing,  to  be  subsequently 
coloured.  They  were  not  colourists,  nor  had  their 
brushwork  any  character  of  distinction,  while  mat- 
ters of  light  and  atmosphere  concerned  them  little. 
Yet  they  had  not  escaped  entirely  the  influence  of 
outside  tendencies;  for  example,  they  frequently 
popularised  their  pictures  by  giving  them  a senti- 
mental or  anecdotal  appeal. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  purpose  to  attempt  to  show 
how  American  students  were  influenced  individu- 
ally by  one  or  another  of  these  masters,  but  rather 
to  summarise  results.  What  they  acquired,  briefly 
stated,  was  a precise  and  scholarly  knowledge  of 
the  human  form  in  its  relation  to  painting.  The 
crux  that  confronted  them,  on  returning  home  to 
America,  was  the  use  to  which  this  knowledge  could 
be  put.  Those,  who  at  this  period  or  later  remained 
in  Paris  after  the  conclusion  of  their  student  days, 
in  a measure  evaded  the  issue  by  devoting  them- 
selves to  the  kind  of  subjects  that  were  interesting 
the  Frenchmen,  and  their  work  became  French  in 
feeling  and  character.  But  to  those  figure-painters 
who  returned  to  America  the  problem  was  far 
more  difficult. 


[165] 


STORY  OF  AMERICiiN  PAINTING 


They  had  returned  because  their  sympathies  were 
with  their  own  country,  but  the  latter  offered  them, 
little  encouragement.  Abroad  the  figure-painters 
devoted  themselves  primarily  to  the  representation 
of  the  nude;  then  to  classic  and  historic  subjects, 
or  to  costume  or  peasant  genre.  But  in  none  of 
these  directions  was  there  much  opening  for  the 
painter  in  America. 

To  the  American  public  the  nude  was  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  the  naked.  It  had  not  the 
familiarity  with  culture  that  discovers  in  the  hu- 
man form  the  highest  symbol  of  abstract  beauty; 
and  two  centuries  of  Puritanical  tradition  and 
prejudice  had  engendered  a prudishness  that  even 
to-day,  while  not  quite  so  virulent,  is  still  prevalent 
and  hide-bound.  The  classics,  as  a mine  of  poetic 
thought  and  concrete  ideals,  were  equally  unfami- 
liar, while  the  scope  of  history  had  become  nar- 
rowed down  to  episodes  of  the  Revolution  and  the 
Civil  War.  Costume  subjects  smacked  of  an 
“effete”  aristocracy,  while  the  people  over  here 
who  correspond  to  the  ouvrier  and  peasant  abroad 
lacked  the  latter’s  individuality.  The  painter  in 
search  of  the  picturesque  found  himself  confronted 
with  the  monotonous  uniformity  of  store  clothes, 
of  a public-school  average  of  manners,  and  of 
organised  labour,  regulated  by  union  conven- 
tions. 

This  is  how  the  home  conditions  appeared  to  the 

[166] 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


returning  students,  and  it  was  not  much  exagger- 
ated by  their  imaginations. 

Meanwhile  the  influx  of  foreign  pictures  was 
increasing,  and  collectors  who  would  have  hesitated 
to  buy  a nude,  a classical  or  historical  subject,  a 
costume  or  peasant  genre,  by  an  American,  in- 
vested in  the  foreign  article.  For,  an  investment 
they  considered  it,  and  a safe  one,  since  the  foreign 
painters  had  received  the  official  indorsement  of 
their  own  country,  in  the  shape  of  medals  and 
honours.  Such  pictures,  it  was  presumed,  though  in 
many  cases  erroneously,  would  always  bring  their 
money  back  with  interest.  Moreover,  foreign 
things  were  the  fashion.  The  Exposition  and  the 
return  of  American  students,  while  they  were  to 
be  of  ultimate  benefit  to  native  art,  were  for  the 
time  being  a source  of  impoverishment  to  the  indi- 
vidual artist.  He  found  it  difficult  to  sell  his  pic- 
tures, for  the  investor-collector  was  swayed  by  the 
argument  of  the  dealers — that,  granted  the  supe- 
riority of  the  foreign  article,  it  was  a shrewder 
speculation  to  invest  in  the  real  thing.  And  this 
had  a further  advantage.  It  saved  the  collector’s 
face.  The  nudes  might  seem  to  be  shamelessly 
indecent,  the  classical  subjects  completely  unintel- 
ligible, but  they  were  French,  and  that  covered  a 
multitude  of  embarrassments.  Is  it  not  a fact  that 
one  does  a lot  of  things  in  Paris,  that  one  would 
not  so  much  as  speak  of  in  New  York  or  Phila- 

[167] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


delphia  or  Boston?  These  pictures  were  French, 
which  at  once  explained,  even  if  it  did  not  condone, 
them,  and,  most  important,  gave  them  a cache. 

Now,  these  conditions,  distressing  enough  at  the 
time  to  individual  painters,  were  on  the  whole  to 
the  advantage  of  American  art.  It  is  true  they 
drove  many  men  to  the  necessity  of  seeking  a living 
in  illustration  rather  than  in  painting,  and  of  for- 
saking the  precariousness  of  imaginative  work  for 
the  surer  returns  of  portraiture.  They  even  post- 
poned for  nearly  twenty  years  an  active  demand 
for  figure-subjects;  until,  in  fact,  the  vogue  of 
mural  painting  was  established.  On  the  other  hand, 
these  conditions  had  their  comnensations.  They 

X ./ 

headed  off  any  general  tendency  that  might  have 
existed  to  imitate  the  motives  as  well  as  the  methods 
of  the  foreigner;  brought  to  the  surface  such  indi- 
viduality as  existed  in  American  figure-painters,  and 
set  the  current  of  our  art  in  the  direction  of  express- 
ing what  is  distinctly  American.  They  helped  to 
bring  the  painting  of  the  figure  in  line  with  that 
of  landscape.  For  the  latter,  though  gaining  rein- 
forcement from  abroad,  has  throughout  its  course 
of  steady  progression  been  a product  and  expression 
of  native  sentiment.  By  comparison,  the  progres- 
sion of  figure-painting  has  been  fitful  and  uncer- 
tain. 

Among  the  few  painters  who  in  the  ’seventies 
[168] 


THE  REFLECTION 


Benja3iin  R.  Fnz 


^ W yHIS  artist  died  young.  He  was  of  Munich  training.,  and.,  although  this  figure  in  its 
M purity  of  drawing  and  feeling  comes  near  to  being  the  loveliest  nude  yet  painted  in 
America^  it  misses  what  a later  knowledge  might  have  given.  The  figure,  notwithstanding 
that  it  is  represented  naturalistically  in  the  open  air,  is  not  enveloped  with  lighted  atmosphere. 

In  the  Collection  of  William  T.  Evans,  Esq  . 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


and  early  ’eighties  ventured  to  render  the  nude  in 
easel  pictures,  the  most  notable  were  B.  R.  Fitz  and 
Walter  Shirlaw,  of  Munich  training,  Wyatt  Eaton, 
a pupil  of  Gerome,  and  Elihu  Vedder,  who  studied 
under  Picot  in  Paris,  but  derived  his  real  instruction 
from  living  in  Rome. 

The  best  example  by  Fitz,  The  Reflection,  rep- 
resents a girl  standing  on  the  edge  of  a pool,  look- 
ing down  into  the  water.  It  has  the  charm  of 
absolutely  unconscious  loveliness,  and  the  technical 
merit  of  being  well  drawn  and  painted.  On  the 
other  hand,  though  the  figure  is  shown  in  the  open 
air,  no  attempt  has  been  made  to  render  the  effects 
of  light  and  atmosphere.  In  this  it  betrays  its 
academic  origin,  as  also  do  the  easel  pictures  of 
nudes  by  Wyatt  Eaton  and  Walter  Shirlaw. 
These  represent  a riper  type  of  beauty  than  the 
girl  by  Fitz,  but  the  same  words  of  commendation 
can  be  given  them.  Less  skilful  as  a painter,  Ved- 
der has  far  more  facility  of  drawing  and  a richer 
imagination  than  either  of  the  others  possessed. 
His  illustrations  to  the  poems  of  Omar  Khayyam, 
as  well  as  his  easel-pictures  and  mural  paintings, 
reveal  an  unusual  gift  for  decorative  treatment  of 
line  and  mass,  and  a still  more  unusual  gift  of  orig- 
inal and  creative  thought.  The  latter  is  a rarer 
quality  in  painting  than  in  some  other  branches  of 
art,  such  as  poetry  and  music,  and  there  have  been 
painters  who  have  tried  to  cover  up  their  own  lack 

[171] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


of  it  by  belittling  Vedder.  They  would  say  that 
in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term  he  is  not  a painter. 
It  is  true;  but  the  same  might  be  said  of  Gerome, 
Bouguereau,  and  Cabanel,  and  of  many  of  their 
puj)ils.  The  academic  method,  as  we  have  already 
observed,  is  based  upon  form;  the  colouring  is 
rather  in  the  nature  of  a tinting  that  only  approxi- 
mates to  the  realities  of  flesh  colour,  since  it  takes 
little  or  no  account  of  the  action  of  light  upon  the 
surfaces.  Vedder  takes  none  whatever,  and  goes 
even  further  in  not  attempting  even  an  approxima- 
tion to  the  local  flesh  tones.  The  reason  is  that 
painting,  as  the  representation  of  real  appearances, 
does  not  interest  him;  it  is  for  him  a symbol  of 
expression;  from  his  point  of  view  the  human  fig- 
ure is  but  a concrete  symbol,  and  his  colouring  of 
the  figure  like  his  use  of  it  is  not  realistic  but 
symbolical.  His  imagination,  these  critics  have  in- 
sisted, is  too  “ literary.”  We  shall  have  more  to 
say  about  this  when  we  discuss  a little  later  the 
catch-cry  of  “ art  for  art’s  sake,”  which  began  to 
be  lieard  in  the  following  decade.  At  present  we 
will  observe  that  the  charge  amounts  to  this — that 
Vedder  has  ideas  embracing  the  mysteries  of  life 
and  death;  a store  of  conceptions  formed  by  expe- 
rience and  reflection  and  by  intimacy  with  the 
thoughts  of  great  minds,  and  has  used  his  art  to 
give  expression  to  them.  If  his  art  were  weak  and 
overweighted  with  the  thought,  there  might  be 

[ 172] 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


some  ground  for  the  criticism;  but  it  is  not.  In 
fact,  the  main  point  of  the  criticism  is  that  intel- 
lectual and  imaginative  originality  is  rare  among 
painters,  as  in  other  professions,  and  the  man  who 
possesses  it  is  apt  to  be  an  offence  to  some  who 
do  not. 

And  here  a word  may  he  said  upon  the  subject 
of  what  many  arbitrarily  call  the  “ ideal  ” pic- 
ture. It  involves  the  use  of  the  nude  or  of  figures 
wrapped  in  draperies,  for  the  most  part,  supposed 
to  be  “ classical.”  This  class  of  motive  is  based 
upon  the  assumption  that  the  painter’s  duty  and 
privilege  is  to  improve  upon  the  imperfections  of 
the  human  form  and  to  give  the  figure  an  ideal  per- 
fection. Therefore  the  world  of  real  men  and 
women  will  not  do;  the  painter  must  invent  some 
fancy  of  his  own.  As  a rule,  he  does  not  so  much 
invent  as  follow  along  some  well-worn  ruts  that 
have  led  for  centuries  to  the  same  goal.  Here  some 
nymph  of  antiquity  for  the  thousandth  time  dis- 
poses of  her  maiden  beauty  to  invite  the  approach 
of  her  divine  or  human  lover;  or  steps  into  her 
bath  or  emerges  therefrom;  or  beautiful  youths 
and  maidens  pose  themselves  in  self -admiring 
groups,  or  weave  their  bare  limbs  and  nicely  calcu- 
lated draperies  into  a rhythmic  maze.  The  in- 
numerable changes  rung  on  these  and  such  like 
themes  have  produced  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
pictures  in  the  world,  but  by  artists  who  were 

[ 173] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


nearer  to  the  sources  of  Classic  culture  than  we  are 
to-day,  especially  in  America.  Regarded  as  a prod- 
uct of  ourselves,  such  modern  pictures  are  at  best 
a graceful  affectation;  and,  as  a consequence,  reach 
only  a pretty  mediocrity.  Their  influence  is  even 
detrimental,  so  far  as  they  help  to  foster  a wrong 
cenception  of  the  “ ideal.”  In  appropriating  this 
attribute  exclusively  to  an  aim  at  material  perfec- 
tion and  losing  sight  of  that  higher  ideal  of  spirit- 
ual and  imaginative  expression,  the  modern  Aca- 
demic painter  has  reduced  his  art  to  a condition  of 
inferiority,  as  compared  with  music  and  poetry  and 
even  the  finer  kinds  of  prose.  It  is  but  a more  or 
less  elegant  make-believe,  in  a world  that  is  very 
real.  It  takes  no  account  of  man’s  higher  aspira- 
tions and  needs,  and  in  its  impersonal,  unindivid- 
ual treatment  of  form  runs  counter  to  the  indi- 
vidualism and  exact  study  of  phenomena,  which 
have  become  the  characteristic  of  the  age. 
Whereas,  in  this  respect  the  Academic  painter  di- 
vorces art  from  life,  the  trend  of  the  time  has  been 
to  discover  a union  of  the  two. 

With  many  of  our  painters,  however,  the  Aca- 
demic training  has  been  but  the  prelude  to  very 
independent  and  personal  development.  Three 
examples  may  be  quoted.  Two  of  these,  George 
de  Forest  Brush  and  Abbott  H.  Thayer,  were 
pupils  of  Gerome,  himself  a man  of  intellectuality 

[ ] 


THE  KEEPER 


Copyright  by  Elilm  Tedder 

OF  THE  THRESHOLD 


Elihu  Yedder 


J STRIKIJS  G exam'ple  of  this  artist  s decorative  and  expressionai  control  of  line  and 
mass  in  composition,  and  of  the  character  and  quality  of  his  imagination;  also,  in 
the  original,  of  his  symbolic  use  of  color.  The  meaning  of  the  symbolism,  while  in 
a genet al  way  directly  grasped,  is  too  abstract  to  justify  any  one  man  in  attempting  to  cur- 
tail its  significance  by  confining  it  icithin  a form  of  ivords.  It  appeals,  as  symbolism  should, 
diversely  to  diverse  minds  and  experiences. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Carnegie  Institute,  Pittsburg 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


but  devoid  of  imagination.  What  we  may  believe 
they  derived  from  him  was  a mental  discipline  and 
faculty  of  thought  which  enabled  them  to  put  to 
entirely  independent  uses  the  principles  that  they 
learned  from  him,  and  ultimately  to  give  free  rein 
to  their  own  imagination. 

In  Brush’s  early  pictures  after  his  return  home 
the  brushwork  is  trim  and  sleek  and  hard,  like  his 
master’s,  and  he  reflects  also  the  latter’s  partiality 
for  embodying  some  story  and  archaeology  in  his 
pictures.  But  as  a basis  for  these  qualities  Brush 
did  not,  like  Gerome,  search  the  Classics  or  the 
strange  life  of  the  East.  His  thoughts  were  to- 
ward his  own  country  and  what  it  might  yield  in 
the  way  of  motive.  He  found  material  for  story, 
archaeology,  and  strangeness  in  the  North  Ameri- 
can Indians;  and  food  for  his  imagination  by  dis- 
covering in  their  present  condition  a clue  to  their 
past.  He  attempted  to  recreate  the  spacious, 
empty  world  in  which  they  lived  a life  that  was 
truly  primitive,  unmixed  with  any  alloy  of  the 
white  man’s  bringing;  and  to  interpret  not  only 
the  externals  of  their  life,  but  its  inwardness,  as 
with  mingled  stolidity  and  naivete  these  men-chil- 
dren looked  out  upon  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
fronted  the  mystery  of  death,  and  peered  into  the 
stirrings  of  their  own  souls. 

In  these  Indian  pictures,  far  too  few  in  number. 
Brush  still  betrayed  the  tentative  technique  of  the 

[177] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


student,  for  their  drawing  is  tame  and  the  painting 
constrained  and  timorous.  But  the  imagination, 
revealed,  is  deep  and  elevated,  and  no  one  has  ap- 
proached him  in  the  completeness  with  which  he  has 
suggested  the  solemn  romance  of  those  primitive 
conditions.  In  Silence  Broken,  for  example,  a 
goose  has  burst  from  a bank  of  foliage  immedi- 
ately above  the  head  of  an  Indian  in  a canoe.  One 
is  conscious  of  the  rush  of  sound,  vibrating  through 
the  vast  isolation.  The  Indian  looks  up,  but  does 
not  cease  his  paddling;  he  kneels  in  the  boat,  a 
figure  of  monumental  composure.  And  here,  in 
Mourning  Her  Brave,  a squaw,  muffled  in  a blan- 
ket, stands  in  the  snow  on  the  mountain  side  chant- 
ing a dirge,  as  she  stares  dully  at  the  leaden,  unre- 
lenting sky.  The  suggestion  is  elemental;  a note 
or  world-old  wailing  and  protest  out  of  the  void  of 
time.  Or  again,  in  the  Sculptor  and  the  King, 
the  one  has  wrought  upon  a block  of  sandstone, 
drawing  from  it  some  expression  of  the  thought 
within  himself,  and  now  he  waits  in  trembling 
eagerness  for  the  word  of  the  King.  The  latter 
holds  himself  erect  and  rigid,  with  the  habit  of 
superiority,  but  in  his  mind  is  embarrassment.  This 
man,  his  inferior  in  social  standing,  has  reached  out 
beyond  the  King’s  experience  and  done  something 
that  makes  royalty  itself  seem  powerless ; a strange 
new  thing,  a creation.  The  King  is  oppressed 
with  wonder. 


[178] 


PORrUAIT  GROUP 


George  oe  Forest  Brush 


I 


\ 


i 

1 


OX /'  of  the  series  of  this  artist's  renderings  of  his  wife  and  children. 

In  tlie  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


i 


ti 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


One  can  only  touch  upon  the  thought  of  these 
pictures.  If  you  have  seen  them,  you  will  recall 
the  grip  which  they  exert  on  the  imagination,  and 
join  in  the  regret  that  Brush  did  not  persevere  in 
this  line  of  work  until  his  technical  ability  had 
become  equivalent  to  his  conceptions.  But  he 
abandoned  it,  anxious,  I believe,  to  paint  ideas 
more  close  to  the  experience  of  everybody,  and  not 
uninfluenced,  we  may  suspect,  by  the  claims  of 
family  life  upon  his  sympathy.  For  his  theme 
now  became,  and  has  continued  to  be,  his  wife  and 
children,  painted  in  the  spirit  of  reverent  devotion 
that  characterised  the  Madonnas  of  the  Old  Mas- 
ters. But  with  a difference — the  interpolation  of 
a modern  note  of  painful  seriousness.  It  is  not  the 
happiness  of  JMotherhood  that  he  represents,  but 
the  burthen  and  responsibility  of  INIaternity,  a rem- 
nant of  the  rigid  strenuousness  of  Puritanic  ten- 
dencies. Even  in  the  sweet  faces  of  the  children 
is  a foreshadowing  of  care.  Meanwhile  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Madonna  motive  threw  his  study  back 
to  the  old  paintings,  and  his  own  technique,  recall- 
ing that  of  the  early  Flemish  masters,  obtained  a 
fulness  and  dignity  that  befit  the  theme.  When- 
ever his  pictures  appear,  they  create  for  themselves 
an  atmosphere  of  grave  distinction. 

The  same  quality,  with  a superadded  note  of  ten- 
derness, is  to  be  found  in  the  work  of  Abbott 

[181] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


Thayer.  He,  too,  has  left  behind  the  manner  of 
his  master,  and  acquired  one  of  his  own,  character- 
ised rather  by  sincerity  than  style,  for  his  colour 
is  confused,  the  brushwork  laboured.  Nevertheless 
his  pictures  move  and  hold  one  by  the  force  of  their 
spirituality.  They  are  the  expression  of  very 
beautiful  qualities  of  personal  character,  strong, 
tender,  simple. 

The  girl-figure  that  haunts  his  convases,  nobly 
formed,  but  free  of  any  cloy  of  flesh,  fronts  the 
world  with  starlike  eyes,  serenely  fixed  beyond  the 
range  of  common  things.  She  is  a vestal  virgin, 
that  has  in  her  keeping  the  spiritual  ideal  of  which 
she  herself  is  the  creation. 

Thayer,  in  fact,  has  done  for  the  spiritual  ideal 
of  American  womanhood  what  Charles  Dana 
Gibson  has  done  for  the  physical  and  mundane — 
created  a type.  Gibson’s,  through  multiplication 
of  copies  and  because  of  its  aggressive  attractive- 
ness, caught  the  popular  fancy;  Thayer’s,  for  ex- 
actly opposite  reasons,  has  captivated  the  imagina- 
tion only  of  the  few.  Gibson’s  type  is  sexless,  and 
self-engrossed;  Thayer’s  unconscious  of  her  mod- 
esty, self-contained,  but  tender  and  unselfish.  She 
is  typical  of  the  pure,  frank  outlook  upon  life, 
prepared  to  accept  its  responsibilities  and  renuncia- 
tions, to  lighten  its  grossness,  and  uphold  a high 
ideal. 

In  an  age  and  environm.ent,  not  overgiven  to 
[182] 


VIRGIN  ENTHRONED 


Abbott  H.  Thayer 


BEAUTIFUL  example  of  the  artist’s  idealized  type  of  girlhood. 


CARITAS  Akbot  H.  Thayer 


‘ ^'~>^IIARITY.'''  which  in  its  purest  form  is  Love,"  represe)ited  as  o maiden 
■ of  nohte  figure  and  passionless  serenity,  stands ng  guardian  orter  the  lives 
of  the  little  ones.  In  no  other  picture  has  Thayer  so  completely  reconciled 
the  Greek  abstraction  of  perfection  with  the  practical  sentiment  of  the  modern  spirit. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  Boston 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


spirituality  and  imagination,  these  pictures  are  a 
notable  embodiment  of  both. 

From  them  we  may  pass  very  naturally  to  a 
study  of  Thomas  W.  Dewing’s  conceptions  of 
woman,  as  embodied  in  his  pictures.  In  it  also  we 
may  find  a note  distinctly  American.  For  it 
should  be  remembered  that  there  are  two  ways  in 
which  a painter  may  reflect  the  particularity  of  his 
environment.  There  is,  first,  the  comparatively 
obvious  one  of  representing  the  externals;  and, 
secondly,  the  more  subtle  one  of  interpreting 
the  inner  nature  of  the  men  and  women  around 
him. 

From  an  attempt  to  record  the  first,  as  we  have 
already  remarked,  the  earlier  home-comers  were 
discouraged,  and  it  cannot  yet  be  said  that  they  or 
their  successors  have  made  considerable  contribu- 
tion to  a record  of  the  appearances  of  American 
life.  Such  genre  subjects  as  those  of  Eastman 
Johnson,  that  depict  incidents  relating  to  the  Civil 
War,  or  Thomas  Hovenden’s  Last  Moments  of 
John  Brownj  or  Winslow  Homer’s  early  pictures 
of  rural  scenes  in  the  South,  were  the  product  of 
an  earlier  influence,  that  at  the  period  we  are  dis- 
cussing was  losing  its  force,  even  if  it  had  not  actu- 
ally expired.  It  had  been  undermined  by  the  influ- 
ence from  abroad;  for  while  the  latter  had  done 
much  to  put  the  student  on  sure  ground  as  regards 

[185] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


technique,  it  had  unsettled  his  motives.  It  had  held 
up  to  him  certain  motives  congenial  to  the  condi- 
tions abroad,  which,  however,  he  could  not  find  at 
home,  and  as  a consequence  he  was  embarrassed  and 
at  a loss. 

We  do  not  forget  that  some  turned  resolutely  to 
the  theme  of  Colonial  times.  But  these  pictures  of 
Puritan  maidens  and  the  life  of  the  early  settlers, 
by  men  like  C.  Y.  Turner,  George  H.  Boughton, 
and  Douglas  Volk,  though  charming  in  many  re- 
spects, particularly  in  that  of  sentiment,  are  after 
all  the  ^^rodiict  of  fancy;  they  are  not  interpreta- 
tions of  American  life,  as  known  and  studied  by 
the  painter.  It  was  the  contemjDorary  conditions 
tliat  this  new  generation  of  painters  avoided,  and 
that  their  successors  have  infrequently  and  inade- 
quately attempted.  Indeed,  it  is  scarcely  an  exag- 
geration to  say  that  the  only  great  interpretation 
of  any  phase  of  American  conditions  is  to  be  found 
in  Winslow  Homer’s  pictures  of  the  fisherfolk  of 
jMaine. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  the  subtler  domain  of  the 
spirit  the  American  environment  has  made  itself 
felt.  Its  action  has  been  twofold:  subjectively  af- 
fecting the  mental  attitude  of  the  painter,  and 
objectively  offering  to  his  scrutiny  certain  distinct 
qualities  in  the  object  of  his  study.  We  have  seen 
how  these  results  are  exhibited  in  the  attitude  of 
Brush  and  Thayer,  respectively,  toward  maternity 

[186] 


THE  LOOK-OUT  - ALL  ’S  WELL  Winslow  Homer 

ONE  may  find  the  texture  of  the  hell,  sou  wester,  and  the  mans  face  pretty  much 
the  same.  But  such  technicalities,  that  would  he  detriments  to  a picture  of  smaller 
import,  disappear  in  the  prodigious  force  of  this  one.  It  is  a chunk  out  of  the 
rude  heroism  of  the  lives  of  the  fishermen  that  ply  their  calling  off  the  iron  coast  of  Maine, 

Jn  the  Collection  of  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  Boston 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


and  maidenhood,  and  may  now  study  another 
phase  of  them,  in  Dewing’s  rendering  of  women. 

ILis  also  betray  the  inherited  trait  of  serious- 
ness, and  are  all  still  the  daughters  of  Puritanism, 
though  many  times  removed  from  the  original 
strain.  Generations  of  repressed  emotion  have 
made  them  incapable  of  passion;  strenuousness 
survives  only  in  supersensitive  nerves;  their  sole 
religion  is  the  worship  of  self.  From  narrow  con- 
ditions they  have  emerged  into  a vision  of  the 
Kingdoms  of  the  World  and  the  Glory  of  them, 
but  have  already  tasted  of  satiety.  They  are  mo- 
tionless in  an  atmosphere  from  which  all  human 
warmth  has  been  sucked,  in  a vacuum  drained  of 
intellectual  and  emotional  nourishment.  These 
bodily  shapes  are  not  of  flesh  and  blood;  they  are 
the  essence  distilled  from  the  withering  of  what 
is  womanly,  the  mere  fragrance  of  dead  rose-leaves. 

It  was  only  by  degrees  that  Dewing  evolved  this 
conception.  His  earlier  examples,  such  as  the 
Lady  at  the  Spinet,  and  some  of  his  small  portraits, 
still  have  a charm  that  is  physical  as  weU  as  spirit- 
ual. The  change  may  have  come  about  through  a 
change  in  his  technical  motive,  as  he  became  more 
and  more  enamoured  of  the  subtleties  of  colour  and 
lighting,  qualities  that,  we  shall  see,  began  to  oc- 
cupy the  attention  of  students  during  the  ’eighties. 
It  is  a phase  of  our  story  that  belongs  to  a later 
chapter.  We  can  only  say  of  it  here,  that  to  an 

[189] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


artist  of  Dewing’s  sensibility  both  of  feeling  and 
band,  it  offered  a possibility  of  exquisite  refinement 
of  style,  such  as  his  has  become;  and  that  in  the 
refining  of  his  method  his  typical  conception  grew 
to  be  more  and  more  rarified ; less  and  less  concerned 
with  form  as  form,  increasingly  occupied  with  its 
suggestion  of  abstract  expression. 

In  this  evolution  of  motive  and  method  he  owed 
as  little  to  his  masters,  Lefehvre  and  Boulanger, 
as  Brush  and  Thayer  did  to  Gerome.  In  each  case 
the  individuality  of  the  man  gradually  declared 
itself.  It  took  some  colour  from  its  native  en- 
vironment and  gave  back  in  return  an  interpreta- 
tion of  something  distinctively  American  in  spirit. 
In  the  latter  respect  they  are  alone  among  their 
contemporaries ; nor  do  I know  where  to  look 
among  their  successors  for  any  who  has  done  a 
similar  thing.  These  three  men  have  not  exhausted 
the  subject  of  American  womanhood;  but,  as  some 
of  the  Florentine  sculptors  and  painters  did  in  the 
case  of  the  women  of  the  Renaissance,  they  have 
represented  certain  distinct  types  of  contemporary 
femininity. 

We  started  the  chapter  with  a consideration  of 
the  Academic  motive,  but  in  following  the  devel- 
opment of  Dewing,  especially,  have  been  compelled 
to  wander  from  it.  We  may  recover  our  ground 
by  a reference  to  Edwin  A.  Abbey,  who,  though 
not  Paris-trained,  is  a conspicuous  example,  almost 

[190] 


LE  JASEUR  Thomas  W.  Dewing 

~W  JT ^’HILE  the  coloring  presents  a weh  of  subtle  and  S'uhdued  harmony,  the  figures  vibrate  with  a thrill  of  piquancy. 

is  interesting  to  note  with  what  unerring  ease  the  artist  has  made  the  movement  of  the  figures  and  their  several 
kinds  of  engrossed  attention  concentrate  toward  the  chatterbox'''  on  the  table. 

In  the  Collection  of  John  Gellatly,  Esa 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


the  only  one  we  have  in  modern  times,  of  the  Aca- 
demic principle  applied  to  historic  painting. 

ararararararararararar 

Born  in  Philadelphia,  in  1852,  a pupil  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Academy,  he  became  a draughtsman 
in  the  publishing  house  of  Harper  & Brothers. 
Those  were  the  days  of  reproduction  by  wood  en- 
graving, and  his  duty  was  to  draw  the  picture  on 
the  block.  Gradually  this  method  was  superseded 
by  the  mechanical  process  of  photo-engraving,  and 
with  this  transition,  Abbey’s  career  as  an  illustra- 
tor is  closely  identified.  The  newer  methods  of- 
fered increased  opportunity  of  originality  and  skill 
on  the  part  of  the  draughtsman,  and  soon  Abbey 
became  known  as  one  of  the  most  original  and 
skilful,  especially  in  the  use  of  pen  and  ink.  His 
illustrations  to  “ Herrick’s  Poems  ” had  so  much 
charm  of  invention  and  such  a sympathy  with  and 
insight  into  the  old-time  feeling  and  environment, 
that  he  was  commissioned  by  his  publishers  to  go  to 
England  and  gather  material  for  a series  of  illustra- 
tions of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  This  visit  proved 
the  turning  point  of  his  career.  He  found  in  Eng- 
land, not  only  material  for  his  drawings,  but  also 
the  mental  suggestion  and  atmosphere  that  his 
artistic  development  craved.  He  settled  in  Eng- 
land, married  a New  York  lady,  and  has  since  made 
his  home  at  Morgan  Hall,  an  old  manor  house  at 
Fairford  in  Oxfordshire.  The  success  which  his 

[193] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


work  achieved  enabled  him,  without  abandoning 
illustration,  to  devote  a eonstantly  increasing  at- 
tention to  oil  painting.  In  the  latter  medium  he 
continued  the  same  purposes  and  characteristics 
that  he  had  adopted  in  his  illustrations.  The  basis 
of  the  picture  is  still  the  subjeet;  an  old  world  one, 
frequently  taken  from  some  scene  in  Shakespeare’s 
plays. 

Like  his  series  of  decorations  in  the  Boston  Pub- 
lie  Library,  embodying  the  story  of  the  “ Holy 
Grail,”  they  are  presented  with  an  archaeological 
exactness  of  costume  and  accessories,  and  with 
much  dramatic  action  and  regard  for  individual 
characterisation.  They  are  rich  in  colour,  showing 
a preference  for  blacks,  whites,  and  scarlet;  though 
it  is  to  he  noted  that  Abbey  is  only  in  a limited 
sense  a colourist.  To  borrow  a musical  simile,  he 
does  not  compose  the  colours  in  a harmony,  but 
introduces  separate  melodies  of  eolour,  and  spots 
his  pictures  with  these,  as  a draughtsman  with  pen 
and  ink  spots  the  blacks  and  whites  in  his  composi- 
tion. Indeed,  in  this  respect,  as  well  as  because  of 
tlie  importance  given  to  subject  and  his  method  of 
building  up  his  effects  for  the  main  purpose  of 
telling  the  story  of  the  scene.  Abbey,  while  work- 
ing in  oil,  still  remains  an  illustrator;  upon  that 
larger  seale  wliich  is  distinguished  as  “ historieal 
painting.”  He  is  the  most  important  survivor,  in 
fact,  of  the  vogue  of  the  historical  subject;  and  in 

[194] 


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THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY  Ai.exakdeh  IL  Wvaxt 

J VER  Y fne  example  of  what  may  he  called  the  artwt's  middle  style,  when  his  yreat  skill  in  renderiny  detail  heyan 
/m  to  he  requlated  hy  an  approach  to  broader  yeneralization.  At  this  time,  too,  the  serdimevt  represented  a more 
ohjective  lore  of  nature,  before  it  had  deepened  into  the  very  personal  note  of  feeliny  that  distinyuished  his  later  v:ork. 

In  the  Collection  of  Samuel  Unterniyer,  flsq. 


i 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE 


consequence  was  selected  to  paint  the  official  pic- 
ture of  King  Edward’s  Coronation.  That  vogue 
has  given  way  before  the  increased  attention  paid 
to  the  manner  of  representation,  rather  than  to  the 
subject;  to  the  aim  of  the  modern  painter  to  study 
his  subject  at  close  and  intimate  range,  for  which 
jiurpose  he  chooses  a simple  one,  and  makes  the  ex- 
pression of  his  picture  grow  out  of  the  technical 
expression.  These  principles,  originally  learned 
from  the  Barbizon  painters,  have  been  perpetuated 
in  the  steady  development  of  American  landscape 
painting.  We  will  resume,  in  the  next  chapter,  the 
thread  of  these  influences  during  the  ’seventies  and 
early  ’eighties,  noting  at  the  same  time  some  in- 
teresting examples  of  independent  growth. 


[197] 


CHAPTER  X 


CONTINUANCE  OF  BARBIZON  INFLUENCE  AND 
SOME  EXAMPLES  OF.  INDEPENDENCE 

IN  resuming  the  story  of  American  landscape, 
we  meet  with  two  men  who  are  usually  asso- 
ciated in  our  mind  with  George  Inness : Alex- 
ander H.  Wyant  and  Homer  INIartin.  These  three 
may  be  reckoned  tlie  fathers  of  modern  American 
landscape.  IVIartin,  like  Inness,  was  directly  influ- 
enced by  the  Barbizon  painters;  Wyant  indirectly 
through  the  example  of  Inness  and  of  the  Barbizon 
pictures  that  had  reached  this  country.  His  artistic 
career  resembled  that  of  Inness,  so  far  as  it  de- 
veloped from  analysis  to  synthesis  and  from  the 
representation  of  landscape  to  the  rendering  of  a 
mood  of  nature.  Otherwise  the  two  men  were  very 
different.  Inness  was  versatile,  eager,  and  impul- 
sive, a transcendentalist ; Wyant,  a lyric  poet- 
painter,  in  whose  mind,  as  in  a still  pool,  a restricted 
range  of  emotions  was  mirrored,  with  a suggestion 
of  poignant  tenderness  and  depth. 

Wyant  was  born,  in  1836,  at  Deflance,  Ohio. 
Although  as  a boy  he  had  the  observing  eye  and 
the  desire  to  translate  into  line  the  forms  of  things, 
and,  as  he  grew  older,  trained  himself  in  drawings 

[198] 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


he  was  twenty  years  old  before  he  saw  any  pictures. 
This  opportunity  came  to  him  when  he  visited  Cin- 
cinnati, and,  among  the  pictures  there,  one  espe- 
cially attracted  him.  It  was  by  Inness.  It  seemed 
to  the  young  man  that  one  who  could  paint  like 
that  would  be  able  and  willing  to  advise  him  as  to 
whether  he  might  dare  to  hope  to  be  an  artist.  He 
found  means  to  visit  New  York,  sought  out  Inness, 
was  most  kindly  received,  and  spread  out  his  studies 
and  sketches  to  await  judgment.  The  verdict  was 
favourable,  and  Wyant  resolved  to  be  an  artist. 

He  went  abroad  and  studied  for  a time  under 
the  Norwegian  painter,  Hans  Gude,  who  had 
graduated  from  Diisseldorf  and  was  teaching  at 
Carlsruhe.  There  seems  to  have  been  a mutual 
attachment  between  master  and  pupil;  but,  when 
the  former  urged  an  imitation  of  his  own  method 
of  painting,  Wyant  rebelled. 

He  returned  to  America,  and  being  in  need  of 
funds,  joined  a Government  expedition  to  explore 
the  West.  Hardships  overtook  the  party;  his  phys- 
ical strength  was  unequal  to  the  strain,  and,  par- 
tially paralysed,  he  was  put  on  board  an  eastward 
train.  The  train  passed  through  his  native  town; 
but  he  reasoned  that,  if  he  succumbed  to  his  condi- 
tion, he  might  never  again  be  able  to  emerge  and 
push  forward  to  his  goal  of  being  an  artist.  So 
he  lay  still  and  reached  New  York.  In  time  he 
recovered  the  use  of  his  body,  but  his  right  arm 

[199] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


remained  affected,  and  henceforth  he  painted  with 
the  left.  Moreover,  during  the  rest  of  his  life  he 
was  subject  always  to  bodily  discomfort,  not  infre- 
quently to  pain,  and  there  hung  over  him  the  real- 
isation that  his  days  were  numbered.  He  worked 
under  the  intense  concentration  of  feeling  that  he 
had  so  much  he  wished  to  do,  so  little  time  in  which 
to  do  it.  The  remainder  of  liis  life,  which  he  shared 
with  a devoted  wife  and  a few  friends,  Inness 
pre-eminently  among  them,  he  gave  to  the  study 
of  nature,  finding  companionship  all  along  in  the 
nature-poet,  Wordsworth.  He  worked  first  in  the 
Adirondacks;  then,  fearing  that  he  might  fall  into 
a mannerism  by  continuing  to  represent  scenes 
of  similar  character,  moved  to  the  Catskills.  His 
development,  influenced  by  the  Barbizon  paintings, 
that  were  being  imported  in  increasing  numbers, 
and  by  the  example  of  Inness,  was  from  analysis 
to  synthesis,  from  the  representation  of  external 
nature  to  the  interpretation  of  a mood.  His  earlier 
j)ictures  are  marvels  of  precise  mastery  of  charac- 
terisation. By  degees  they  become  broader,  sim- 
pler, more  single-minded,  or  shall  I call  it  single- 
hearted?  For  their  emotional  quality  increased 
until  they  become  the  intense  expression  of  a mood 
— the  artist’s  own  feeling,  interpreted  through 
nature.  And  the  mood  grows  to  be  one  of  absorb- 
ing love  and  lovableness,  frequent  with  sadness, 
musical  lyrics  in  a minor  key. 

[ 200] 


ADIRONDACK  VISTA 


Alexander  H.  Wyaxt 


HE  original,  like  most  of  Wyant's,  very  difficult  to  reproduce,  is  character- 
ized by  a complete  comprehension  of  the  natural  forms  and  exceedingly 
delicate  quality  of  spiritual  suggestion. 


In  the  Collection  of  William  T.  Evans,  Esq. 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


Throughout  his  life  he  was  a student,  and  when 
he  was  conscious  that  the  end  was  drawing  near 
(it  came  in  1892) , he  would  exclaim:  “ Had  I but 
five  years  more  in  which  to  paint,  even  one  year,  I 
think  I could  do  the  thing  I long  to.” 

This  is  the  cry  of  a true  artist,  one  whose  soul 
was  set  upon  that  most  evanescent,  intangible 
quality — expression,  while  his  hands  were  ham- 
pered by  a medium  comparatively  clumsy  and  hard 
to  manage.  To  others  it  will  seem  that  he  reached 
achievement;  to  himself,  conscious  of  what  he 
longed  to  do,  there  remained  to  the  end  a royal  dis- 
content. 

ararartrararararararar 

In  great  contrast  to  Wyant’s  tender,  poignant 
lyricism,  and  to  the  brilliant  improvisation  of  In- 
ness,  is  the  profound  seriousness  of  Homer  Mar- 
tin’s work.  To  his  club-mates  he  was  a “ fellow 
of  infinite  jest,”  big-natured  in  his  weakness  as  in 
his  strength;  in  the  seclusion  of  his  art,  a painter 
of  grave  purposes  and  serious  imaginings. 

He  was  born  at  Albany,  New  York,  in  1836,  the 
year  also  of  Wyant’s  birth.  Except  for  a few 
weeks’  instruction  from  William  Hart  he  was  self- 
taught,  and  his  early  work  represents  a groping  of 
mind  and  hand,  a searching  after  the  thing  that 
was  worth  doing  and  some  way  of  doing  it. 
Already,  however,  it  was  distinguished  by  a feel- 
ing for  colour  and  expression.  He  had  always  been 

[203] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


subject  to  a weakness  of  the  eyes,  which  debarred 
him  from  admission  into  the  army  at  the  opening 
of  the  Civil  War,  and  had  a marked  influence  upon 
the  tenor  of  his  art. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  what  we  recognise  in  an 
artist  as  a mental  idiosyncrasy  has  frequently  orig- 
inated in  some  defect  or  peculiarity  of  ocular 
vision;  for  it  is  how  the  artist  sees  the  visible  world 
that  will  determine  how  the  impression,  filtered 
through  his  mind,  will  appear  in  the  picture.  Now 
JVIartin’s  imperfection  caused  him  to  see  nature  in 
mass,  not  enclosed  in  sharp  outlines;  and  since 
crispness  and  definiteness  were  a characteristic  of 
such  landscape  pictures  as  he  had  at  first  the  op- 
portunity of  seeing,  he  distrusted  himself.  Had 
he  known  that  Corot,  after  a long  apprenticeship 
to  certainties  of  form,  had  deliberately  brought 
himself  to  see  nature  as  a pattern  of  masses,  soft- 
ened against  the  spaces  of  the  sky;  that  this  was  a 
phase  of  the  process  which  other  artists  were  going 
through  in  their  passage  from  the  analytical  to  the 
synthetical  method  of  representing  nature,  he 
would  have  been  saved  much  distress  and  delay. 
He  might  have  realised  the  fact,  so  frequently  illus- 
trated in  art,  and  to  be  exhibited  later  in  his  own, 
that  it  is  out  of  a man’s  weakness  that  his  peculiar 
strength  is  evolved.  But  it  was  not  until  after 
he  had  been  abroad  that  impressions  which  he 
had  hesitated  to  accept  became  convictions,  upon 

[ 204  ] 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


which  he  could  effectually  base  his  self -develop- 
ment. 

His  first  visit  was  in  1876,  to  Holland,  England, 
and  France,  with  a short  stay  at  Barbizon.  Again 
in  1881  he  went  to  England,  renewing  a friendship 
with  Whistler  that  had  been  commenced  five  years 
before;  and  thence  moved  across  the  Channel  to 
Villerville,  a little  village  near  Harfleur  in  Nor- 
mandy, where  nineteen  months  were  spent.  It  was 
during  this  time  that  he  gathered  the  impressions 
which  later  resulted  in  some  of  his  finest  works — 
Law  Tide  at  Villerville,  Honfieur  Lights,  Cinque- 
hoeuf  Church,  known  now  as  Old  Church  in  Nor- 
mandy; Normandy  Trees,  Normandy  Farm,  the 
Sun  Worshippers,  and  the  landscape  in  the  Metro- 
politan Museum  called,  erroneously,  a View  on  the 
Seine,  The  Mussel  Gatherers  was  completed  a 
little  later  at  Harfleur. 

It  is  characteristic  of  Martin’s  habit  of  work 
that  his  stay  at  Villerville,  the  happiest  incident  of 
his  career,  was  a period  not  of  productivity,  of 
giving  out,  but  of  taking  in  impressions,  to  be  real- 
ised later.  It  may  have  been  an  instinct  for  saving 
his  eyes  that  deterred  him  from  making  the  colour 
studies  or  drawings  in  the  open  air  with  which 
painters  usually  equip  themselves  for  subsequent 
work  in  the  studio.  One  picture,  Westchester 
Hills,  which  many  people  consider  his  masterpiece, 
was  painted  from  start  to  finish  in  the  open  air;  but 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


this  was  a single  exception  to  his  rule  of  work.  His 
numerous  sketches  are  little  more  than  summary 
indications  of  the  anatomy  of  a scene — its  lines  and 
masses,  jotted  down  with  a pencil  or  water-colour 
brush.  His  real  studies  of  nature  w^ere  made 
through  half-closed  eyes,  as  he  lay  or  sat  smoking, 
apparently  doing  nothing.  But  all  the  time  he 
was  absorbing  facts  and  receiving  impressions. 
These  gradually  took  shape  and  arrangement  in 
his  brain,  until  he  ol)tained  a mental  vision  of  his 
subject;  and  it  was  the  memory  of  the  latter  that 
occupied  his  attention  when  subsequently  he  came 
to  paint  the  picture. 

In  “ A Reminiscence  ” of  her  husband  ^Irs. 
IVIartin  testifies  to  this,  which  is  of  extreme  interest 
in  helping  one  to  understand  his  work.  Inciden- 
tally I may  remind  the  reader  that  it  was  in  this 
way  that  many  of  Corot’s  most  beautiful  pictures 
had  their  beginning.  They  were  painted  in  Paris 
from  impressions  stored  up  by  the  artist  during 
the  summer  time  in  Ville  d’Avray,  as  he  watched 
the  rising  of  the  sun,  or  saw  it  to  its  setting.  As 
with  Corot,  it  was  not  the  landscape  but  the  impres- 
sion of  a mood  experienced  in  himself  at  nature’s 
suggestion,  that  IMartin  painted.  And  we  have  it 
on  IVIrs.  ^Martin’s  authority,  and  may  find  corrob- 
oration in  the  titles  of  two  of  liis  pictures,  that  the 
mood  was  not  only  an  abstract  sensation,  but  that 
the  concrete  image  of  the  mood  was  present  to  his 

[206] 


VIEW  ON  THE  SEINE  Homeh  D,  Mahtin 

ORIGINALLY  named  hy  the  artist  “ The  Harp  of  the  Winds,"  the  picture  dlustrates  his  extraordinary  sensibility  to 
the  subtler  qualities  of  nature.  For,  to  a deyree  that  the  reproduction  fails  to  shov),  he  has  succeeded  in  rendering 
that  cool,  pearly  atmosqdiere  ichich  at  certain  times  so  peculiarly  invests  the  river-scenes  of  northern  France. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


imagination.  Thus,  the  View  on  the  Seine  was 
called  by  himself  The  Harp  of  the  Winds,  The 
scene  had  suggested  music  to  him,  and  the  tall  pop- 
lar stems  and  their  reflections  seemed  like  strings 
vibrating  with  the  quiver  of  the  foliage.  But  Mar- 
tin feared  that  the  title  might  seem  to  be  senti- 
mental, and,  abandoning  it,  changed  also  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  trees,  in  order,  I suppose,  that  the 
resemblance  to  a harp  might  not  be  too  obvious. 
For  he  had  a great  horror  of  painting  anything 
that  might  be  suspected  of  a literary  motive,  and 
in  the  titles  of  his  pictures  avoided  giving  any 
verbal  clue  to  the  mood  embodied.  The  only  other 
exception  is  The  Fire  W orshippers ; but  I believe 
it  is  the  exception  that  proves  the  rule. 

For  the  appearance  of  these  trees,  stunted  and 
bent  over  by  the  rigour  of  the  wind,  extending  their 
lean  and  withered  arms  toward  the  glory  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  gives  a certain  obviousness  to  the  title, 
when  once  the  humour  of  the  artist’s  imagination 
has  started  the  suggestion.  But  under  the  obvi- 
ousness of  the  title  he  may  have  desired  to  conceal 
his  deeper  mood.  In  the  contrast  between  the 
splendour  of  the  sky  and  the  cramped,  thwarted 
conditions  upon  earth,  he  may  well  have  felt  a sym- 
bol of  the  artist’s  dream  of  what  he  longs  to  do 
and  of  the  impotence  with  which  he  frequently 
knows  himself  to  be  possessed. 

For  Martin  could  only  work  when  the  impulse 
[209] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


was  upon  him.  “ I do  not  know  where  the  impulse 
comes  from,”  he  once  said,  ‘‘  nor  why  it  stays 
away.  All  I know  is  that  when  it  comes  I can  do 
nothing  but  paint ; and  when  it  goes  away  I can  do 
nothing  but  dawdle.”  “ That  was  absolutely  true; 
and,”  his  ^\dfe  adds,  ‘‘it  was  also  very  inconven- 
ient.” She  gives  another  hint  to  the  understand- 
ing both  of  the  man  and  the  artist  when  she  says 
that  Martin  w^as  himself  a bit  of  nature. 

Without  early  education,  and  despite  a desultory 
appreciation  of  good  literature  and  a taste  for 
music,  unregulated  by  any  sort  of  intellectual  dis- 
cipline, he  remained  in  a very  special  and  unusual 
way  a child  of  nature;  subject  to  variableness  of 
mood,  reckless  of  consequences.  This  was  the 
man — a child.  It  was  only  the  artist  in  him  that 
grew  up  and  matured;  knit  by  bonds  of  serious 
tenderness  to  the  mother  earth,  from  whose  loins 
he  had  come,  and  at  whose  breast  he  fed,  under- 
standing her  voice  by  instinct,  while  her  heart 
throbbed  to  the  movement  of  his  own.  In  a word, 
he  did  not  absorb  nature  and  then  pass  it  through 
the  prism  of  his  own  consciousness,  as  Inness  and 
Wyant  did,  and  most  poetic  landscape  painters 
do,  but  himself  passed  into  nature,  and  became 
once  more  conceived  in  her,  afterwards  employing 
the  strength  of  his  intellect  to  express,  as  it  were, 
the  secrets  of  the  womb.  Through  this  rather  fan- 
tastical process  of  thinking,  I believe,  we  can  gain 

[210] 


THE  FIRE  WORSHIPPERS 


a o 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


a perception  of  what  it  is  in  Homer’s  finest  pictures 
that  moves  one  so  largely  and  so  profoundly.  It 
is  the  completeness  with  which  he  was  able  to  sur- 
render himself  to  nature  that  made  him  able  to 
recover  from  her  the  elemental  feeling,  and  to  ren- 
der it  in  a manner  at  once  so  large,  simple,  and 
profound. 

His  work  is  characterised  by  the  qualities  of  the 
colourist.  In  the  earliest  pictures  there  is  more  than 
a little  gaudiness  of  colour ; but  this  passes  with  the 
work  of  his  maturity  into  a sober  harmony  of  low- 
toned  hues,  grave,  sonorous,  and  musically  subtle; 
the  earth-parts  kneaded  into  solidity,  the  skies 
thrilling  with  vibration.  The  sky,  however,  in  the 
Fire  W orshippers  is  aflame  with  colour;  and  again, 
in  the  last  of  all  his  pictures,  Adirondack  Scenery^ 
he  indulged  in  a profusion  of  bright  tints. 
Though  blind  of  one  eye  and  threatened  with 
cataract  in  the  other,  irreparably  shattered  in  health, 
he  nevertheless  asserted  once  more  the  unfaltering 
jollity  of  the  man  in  an  artist’s  colour  scheme  of 
gaiety.  He  died  in  St.  Paul,  Minnesota,  in  1896. 

arar«rararara»«rarara» 

While  the  three  men  we  have  been  discussing 
were  influenced  more  or  less  directly  by  the  Bar- 
bizon  painters,  their  pictures  bear  no  resemblance 
to  the  latters’.  Henry  W.  Ranger,  however, 
painted  for  a while  in  a manner  that  is  visibly 
reminiscent,  now  of  Rousseau,  now  of  Diaz ; Robert 

[213] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


C.  Minor,  a pupil  of  the  latter,  was  noticeably 
representative  of  Barbizon  choice  and  treatment 
of  subjects.  He  is  dead,  and  Ranger  has  dis- 
covered a style  personal  to  himself.  In  fact,  this 
early  Barbizon  influence  has  run  its  course,  and  ^ 

been  replaced,  as  we  shall  see,  by  another,  in  which, 
through  the  example  of  Manet  and  the  other  “ Im- 
pressionists,’' a closer  and  more  scientiflc  study  of  j 

light  is  the  main  motive.  Meanwhile,  the  salient  • 

features  of  the  influence  are  perpetuated.  Our  I 

landscape  painters  still  select  a fragment  of  na-  j 

ture,  study  it  intimately,  summarise  its  details  t 

into  an  ense7nhle,  and  represent  it  as  a portrait 
of  character  and  expression.  * 

It  will  be  convenient  to  mention  here  those  men 
of  remarkable  originality,  whose  development  was  ? 

apart  from  the  influence  we  have  been  discussing. 

Entirely  self-taught  and  detached  from  this  influ- 
ence, except  in  so  far  as  it  was  in  the  air,  and  no  one 
could  escape  some  recognition  of  it,  Ralph  A. 
Blakelock  remained  a curiously  isolated  figure.  i 

The  son  of  a New  York  physician,  born  in  1817, 
he  would  not  follow  in  his  father’s  profession,  but 
determined  to  divide  his  studies  between  music  and 
painting.  In  neither  did  he  receive  any  instruction, 
and  prepared  himself  for  painting  by  a trip  to  the 
West,  where  he  lived  among  the  Indians  and  se- 
cured material  that  he  afterwards  introduced  into 

[ ] 


I 


THK  iiKOOK  BY  MOONLIGHT 


Ralph  A.  Blakelock 


rjlHlS  finest  example  of  this  artist.  Nature  no  doubt  inspired  him,  but  he 
was  not  a nature  painter.  The  actual  appearances  of  nature  he  trans- 
posed  into  a convention  of  his  own.  which  he  employed  for  the  purpose 
of  emotional  expression.  The  latter  was  his  motive;  nature  he  used  only  as  a 


In  the  Collection  of  Catholina  Lambert,  Esq. 


I EG  E R 1 1^’,  D A LBE  UT  P . R yderJ 

A X aifmirahlc  t xamph  of  this  pnlnftr'a  poet ir-<lrama(ir  manner,  the  irhole  conception  ami  render'm^^ 

rm  of  the  scene  helm/  the  r>  ci  rse  of  )iatnra!istic.  1 he  patterning  f)f  the  tree-forms,  the  massing  of^ 

^ light  anil  shade,  and,  most  of  all,  tin  coloring,  have  been  arhitrarilg  assembled  for  the  purpose  of/ 

vnressimj  the  painter  s own  I motional  conct ption.  , ^ 

In  nf  ^\r  W ilHnm  \ an  Horncl 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


his  pictures.  Tie  v;as  a born  colourist,  and  such 
men  are  usually  musical,  while  the  musician  is 
conscious  of  colour-quality  in  sound.  Indeed,  the 
modern  mind,  in  its  subtle  analysis  of  sensations, 
has  added  to  the  expressiveness  of  language  by 
using  interchangeably  the  terminology  of  these  two 
arts.  Thus,  having  b}^  habit  ceased  to  regard  it  as 
an  affectation,  we  find,  on  the  contrary,  a useful- 
ness and  propriety  in  speaking,  for  example,  of 
harmonies  and  tones  of  color,  high  key  and  low  key 
of  colour,  and  so  on;  similarly  of  shading  of  ex- 
pression in  music,  of  richness  of  colour  and  the  like. 
Both  sensations  reach  us  by  wave  movements,  and 
we  may  recognise  a certain  correspondence  in  the 
way  in  which  they  affect  us.  But  Blakelock  went 
further  than  a mere  consciousness  of  correspond- 
ence, and  worked  out  for  his  own  use  a chromatic 
scale  of  colour  equivalent  to  that  of  music. 

Unfortunately  he  had  never  learned  the  manual 
trick  of  painting,  and  in  the  details,  notably  the 
foliage,  used  his  brush  as  a pencil,  without,  appar- 
ently, having  acquired  the  trick  of  drawing.  His 
trees  are  as  hard,  flat,  and  motionless,  and  often 
as  dark  and  opaque  in  colour,  as  if  cut  out  of 
japanned  tin.  Accordingly,  considered  as  por- 
traits of  nature,  they  are  unsatisfactory.  But  this 
is  not  the  proper  way  to  regard  them.  Bather  they 
are  pictorial  arrangements  founded  upon  a theme 
which  he  has  borrowed  from  nature;  as  a musical 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


composer  may  take  some  simple  folk-tune  and  use 
it  as  the  slender  thread  on  which  to  string  his  har- 
monious inventions.  If  we  will  divest  our  minds 
for  a moment  of  the  habit  of  looking  in  a landscape 
for  an  intimate  study  of  nature,  and  estimate 
Blakelock’s  simply  as  pictorial  convention,  a sym- 
phony of  colour  based  upon  nature  motif,  intended 
to  affect  us  in  a purely  abstract  way,  we  shall  find 
the  best  of  them  extraordinarily  original  and 
inspiring. 

This  is  also  the  best  way  to  estimate  the  work  of 
another  isolated  figure,  Albert  P.  Ryder,  although 
he  himself  is  apt  to  confuse  the  issue  by  giving  his 
pictures  titles  that  have  a literary  suggestion. 
Among  his  subjects,  for  example,  will  be  remem- 
bered Jonah  and  the  Whale,  Siegfried,  Temple  of 
the  Mind,  Flying  Dutchman.  This  literary  allu- 
sion is  a source  of  weakness  in  his  pictures.  Their 
real  strength  consists  in  the  way  in  which  he  makes 
the  rendering  of  the  landscape  a pattern  of  colour 
and  form,  full  of  emotional  appeal,  or  the  ocean 
and  sky  contribute  to  a symphony  of  colour;  in  the 
Jonah  as  wild  and  whirling,  as  a Hungarian  Gipsy 
dance  by  torchlight,  in  the  Flying  Dutchman  as 
weird  as  the  squealing  flight  of  witches.  With  no 
thought  of  nature  in  his  mind,  but  intent  on  making 
every  part  of  the  picture  beautiful  in  colour  and 
texture,  he  embroiders  every  inch  of  the  canvas,  as 

[ 218  ] 


i 


TUMULT  of  water^  in  the  trough  of  which  is  a small  boat  with  a few  shipwrecked  sailors.  Beyond  them  passes 
the  phantom  ship,  her  sails  confused  with  the  sweep  of  cloud  that  hovers  over  the  setting  sun.  The  emotional  sug- 
gestion of  the  picture  is  mainly  the  result  of  the  color-scheme,  a turbulence  of  gold-Jiecked  splendor 

In  the  Collection  of  John  Gellatly,  Esq. 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


if  his  brush  were  a needle,  threaded  with  brilliant 
silks  or  strands  of  gold  and  silver,  until  the  whole 
gleams  like  precious  stones.  All  this  is  beautiful, 
very  beautiful,  pregnant  with  imagination. 

Ryder  has  been  likened  to  JMonticelli,  but  scarcely 
with  justice  to  the  latter.  For  the  Frenchman  was 
a master  in  the  rendering  of  light;  his  pictures  are 
saturated  with  it;  nay,  more,  they  are  constructed 
in  light,  creations  of  light;  the  figures  moving  or 
fixed  in  lighted  atmosphere.  Ryder’s  pictures  are 
usually  opaque,  and  radiant  on  their  surfaces  alone. 
But  there  is  another  fundamental  difference — a 
racial  one.  Monticelli’s  pictures  are  creations  of 
pure  fancy,  while  Ryder  exhibits  the  Anglo-Saxon 
tendency  to  supjDlement  the  music  with  ideas,  and 
his  literary  additions  are  singularly  ineffectual. 
The  little  figures,  boats,  fish,  and  architecture,  ap- 
pear ill-drawn,  ill-placed,  and  curiously  childish 
in  conception,  and  suggest  that  their  author  has 
nothing  of  the  saving  grace  of  humour.  His 
work,  notwithstanding  its  emotional  charm,  gives 
the  impression  of  its  author  being  too  much  pre- 
occupied with  his  own  seriousness. 

The  third  of  the  independents,  George  Fuller, 
belongs  to  a generation  earlier  than  that  of  Ryder 
and  Blakelock,  having  been  born  in  1822,  three 
years  before  the  birth  of  Inness.  Yet  it  was  not 
until  1876  that  the  work  by  which  he  is  now  re- 

[221] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


membered  was  presented  to  the  public  gaze.  It 
had  been  produced  under  circumstances  that  render 
his  career  a chapter  of  romance  in  the  story  of 
American  painting,  and  a very  unusual  variation 
on  the  theme  of  “ art  for  art’s  sake.” 

Up  to  1859  it  was  not  unlike  the  careers  of  other 
painters  in  those  days  of  limited  opportunity. 
Some  instruction  at  home  in  Deerfield,  Massachu- 
setts, where  his  father  was  a farmer,  was  gained 
from  a half-brother  who  had  skill  as  a miniature- 
painter;  later,  a little  instruction  in  drawing  from 
the  sculptor,  Henry  Kirke  Brown,  in  Albany,  and 
further  help  from  another  sculptor,  John  Ball. 
Portraits  occupied  him  principally,  though  he  made 
some  efforts  to  break  away  from  them  and  indulge 
himself  in  imaginative  subjects.  In  1857  he  was 
elected  an  associate  of  the  National  Academy.  The 
most  notable  feature  of  this  period  of  his  life  was 
the  determination  he  made,  as  expressed  in  a let- 
ter to  his  friend  Brown:  “I  have  concluded,”  he 
wrote,  “to  see  nature  for  myself,  through  the  eye 
of  no  one  else,  and  put  my  trust  in  God,  awaiting 
the  result.” 

In  1859  the  tenor  of  his  life  was  changed  by  the 
death  of  his  father  and  elder  brother.  In  the 
interest  of  the  younger  children — his  mother  had 
died  some  years  previously — his  presence  was 
needed  on  the  farm.  But  before  settling  down  he 
realised  the  long-cherished  hope  of  visiting  Europe. 

[ 222] 


CO 

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s: 


S'  S' 


hi  ^ 

a s 

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a 

5.  a 

Cc 

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~ • a 

< a 
g^  o 


a 


2 


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s'  a 


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S 

a" 

s' 


S.  irc 

cfc  a 


a S 


■'<; 

s 

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a. 


S c-< 


EXAMPLES  OF  INDEPENDENCE 


In  London  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Rossetti 
and  Holman  Hunt ; passed  on  to  Paris,  and  thence 
travelled  from  one  to  another  of  the  principal 
cities  of  Belgium,  Holland,  Germany,  and  Italy, 
making  sketches  in  the  galleries,  and  being  at- 
tracted especially  by  the  works  of  the  Colourists 
and  Rembrandt. 

Then  he  returned  home,  and  went  to  work  as  a 
farmer;  and  for  nearly  sixteen  years  passed  out  of 
the  ken  of  both  makers  and  buyers  of  pictures. 
Only  a few  friends  knew  that  in  the  intervals  of 
superintending  the  farm  he  found  time  to  paint; 
with  no  thought  of  selling  or  exhibiting  his  pic- 
tures, intent  simply  on  trying  to  express  some  ideal 
of  his  own.  It  is  likely  that  he  would  have  con- 
tinued in  this  voluntary  seclusion  had  not  a failure 
of  his  tobacco  crop  brought  him  to  the  verge  of 
bankruptcy  and  compelled  him  to  put  some  of  his 
pictures  on  sale  in  Boston.  They  were  received 
with  acclamation,  and  during  the  eight  remaining 
years  of  his  life — he  died  in  1884 — Fuller  resumed 
his  career  as  a professional  painter. 

He  had  determined  to  see  nature  f or  himself,  and 
he  saw  it  through  the  medium  of  his  imagination, 
veiled  with  mist.  Behind  it,  the  landscape  glim- 
mers with  subtle  colours ; the  outlines  of  the  figures 
are  indistinct,  their  motionless  forms  scintillate 
with  suppressed  light ; their  large  eyes  gaze  fixedly, 
as  if  trying  to  pierce  the  veil. 

[225] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


All  these  pictures,  among  the  best  of  which  may 
be  reckoned  The  Turkey  Pasture^  Winifred  Dy- 
sart.  The  liomany  Girl,  have  a quality  of  distinc- 
tion, due  particularly  to  the  rare  quality  of  the 
feeling  that  inspires  them.  They  are  expressions 
of  a singularly  beautiful  condition  of  soul.  Con- 
sidered, however,  purely  as  painting,  they  are  less 
satisfactory.  In  undertaking  the  technical  prob- 
lem of  rendering  light  and  atmosphere  he  antici- 
pated what  we  shall  see  became  a motive  of  the 
next  generation,  but,  in  comparison  with  modern 
2)ictures,  his  own  lack  elasticity  and  clarity  of 
colour.  He  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  New 
IMovement,  peering,  like  one  of  his  own  figures, 
through  the  veil. 

It  is  this  New  Movement  that  is  now  to  engross 
our  attention. 


[226] 


AVE  MARIA 


Copyright,  1906,  hy  iV,  E.  Montrosa 


Horatio  Walker 


^ t ^HE  regular  scene  of  this  artisfs  work  is  the  Island  of  Orleans  in  the  St.  Lawrence 
m River.,  where  the  inhabitants.,  descended  from  the  first  French  settlers.,  have  preserved 
the  religion,  language,  habits,  and  modes  of  farming  of  their  forefathers.  Walker  s 
rendering  of  these  folk,  product  of  an  intimate  and  sympathetic  comprehension,  is  distinguished 
hy  the  technical  qualities  of  virile  drawing  and  of  color,  hy  turns  splendid  and  subtle. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Corcoran  Gallery  of  Art,  Washington 


Dli.  GROSS'  SniGICAL  Cl.IXIC 


MODERX  variant  >>f  R- nibran/Jf's 
In  tlu'  C(*llocti<m  of 


Thomas  Eakixs 

Dr.  Tali',  and  the  "Le.^son  in  A natomy.’' 
the  Jeffer.Non  3Iedical  College.  Philadelphia 


CHAPTER  XI 


FRENCH  INFLUENCE  CONTINUED:  REALISM  AND 
IMPRESSIONISM 

the  conclusion  of  the.  previous  chapter  we 


spoke  of  the  New  Movement.  It  led  up 


finally  to  the  wedding  of  art  with  life, 


which,  as  we  have  more  than  once  noted,  was  to  be 
the  characteristic  achievement  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

We  have  seen  already  what  the  painters  of  Bar- 
bizon  did  to  accomplish  this,  and  how  their  influ- 
ence set  the  coui'se  of  American  landscape  on  a 
firm  road  that  has  led  alike  to  truth  and  to  spiritual 
expression.  We  have  now  to  trace  the  correspond- 
ing development  in  the  domain  of  figure  painting. 
It  is  true  that  Millet  had  already  done  for  the 
figure,  what  Rousseau  and  the  other  Barbizon 
painters  had  done  for  landscape.  He  had  recon- 
ciled what  the  Academicians  regarded  as  contra- 
dictory— art  and  nature.  But,  as  yet,  he  was  little 
known  outside  of  Barbizon.  It  was  necessary  that 
someone  of  more  belligerent  spirit  should  carry 
the  war  of  realism  into  the  enemy’s  stronghold — - 
into  Paris.  The  man  of  the  hour  was  Gustave 
Courbet. 


[aS9] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


The  reader  may  be  reminded  that  in  France  the 
realistic  movement  was  represented  in  literature 
by  Flaubert,  Daudet,  the  brothers  Goncourt,  and 
Zola.  It  was  reflected  in  painting  by  Courbet. 
The  latter,  as  early  as  1855,  had  thrown  down  the 
gage  of  battle  to  the  Academicians,  proclaiming 
himself  a realist,  asserting  that  it  was  a ridiculous 
presumption  for  an  artist  to  paint  what  he  had 
never  seen,  that  liis  province  is  limited  to  what  is 
visible  to  the  eye,  and  that  it  is  the  familiar  facts 
of  life  witli  which  he  ought  to  be  concerned.  Cour- 
bet had  passed  off  the  stage  before  the  later  gen- 
eration of  American  students  reached  Paris,  but 
his  turbulent  personality  had  given  an  impulse  to 
the  Realistic  movement  that  was  carried  forward 
by  others.  It  even  affected  the  Academy,  Gerome, 
for  example,  varying  subjects  of  classic  motive 
with  the  rendering  of  actual  incidents;  while  Bon- 
nat,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  had  early  imbibed  the 
naturalistic  tendencies  of  the  old  Spanish  School, 
became  a cons])icuous  instance  of  exact  and  ana- 
lytical study.  His  ])ortraits  of  men,  by  reason  of 
tlieir  intense  objective  rendering  of  the  external 
characteristics,  are  also,  so  far  as  the  latter  indi- 
cate what  is  below  the  surface,  extraordinary  repre- 
sentations of  human  personality.  Of  both  these 
men  Thomas  Eakins  was  a pupil,  and  he  stands  out 
among  our  painters  as  at  once  the  most  analytical 
in  his  observation  and  the  most  representative  of 

[ 230  ] 


REALISM 


the  influence  of  the  Realistic  movement  upon  the 
Academic  training. 

Born  at  Philadelphia  in  1844,  he  passed  from  the 
schools  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  to  the  studios 
of  Gerome  and  Bonnat,  and  came  back  with  an  eye 
trained  to  precise  observation,  and  a hand  skilled 
in  precision  of  drawing.  In  these  particulars  he 
is  a master;  beyond  them  he  has  shown  no  disposi- 
tion to  travel;  he  is  as  coldly  and  dispassionately 
analytical  as  Gerome  at  his  strongest,  as  unflinch- 
ingly exact  as  Bonnat.  Under  the  former’s  influ- 
ence he  produced  his  masterpiece,  which  is  owned 
by  Jefferson  College,  Philadelphia.  As  Rem- 
brandt, in  his  Lesson  in  Anatomy,  portrayed  the 
celebrated  surgeon.  Dr.  Tulp,  so  Eakins  has  com- 
memorated the  personality  of  Professor  Gross  in 
this  picture,  representing  a Surgical  Clinic.  It 
involves  an  effectively  artistic  composition,  as  well 
of  lines  and  masses  as  of  light  and  shade,  and  fine 
characterisation  in  the  individual  figures,  but  the 
inherent  power  of  the  picture  is  the  product  of  the 
artist’s  own  point  of  view. 

He  approached  the  incident  in  precisely  the  same 
kind  of  condition  of  mind  as  the  surgeons  engaged 
in  the  operation.  The  patient,  for  the  time  being 
at  any  rate,  is  but  a ‘‘  subject,”  toward  which  their 
attitude  of  mind  is  absolutely  impersonal,  but  on 
which  they  concentrate  all  their  knowledge  and 

[231  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


skill,  so  that  their  own  personality  declares  itself 
masterfully  in  a complete  control  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

Equally  objective  are  the  portraits  of  men  by 
Eakins,  which  represent  a similarly  impersonal 
point  of  view  toward  the  sitter,  and  in  his  best  ones 
an  extraordinary  display  of  the  artist’s  own  person- 
ality in  his  grip  of  the  technical  problems  of  the 
picture.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  examples 
is  the  Portrait  of  Louis  N.  Kenton;  a lean,  sham- 
bling figure,  with  the  hands  thrust  into  the  waist- 
pockets  of  the  trousers ; the  strong,  intellectual  head 
bowed  in  meditation.  It  suggests  that  the  man 
has  been  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  thinking 
out  some  matter,  and  has  suddenly  halted,  all  alert, 
as  he  finds  himself  near  to  its  solution.  It  is  a 
picture  that  in  its  matter-of-factness  and  in  its 
disregard  of  the  elegancies  of  line,  and  of  the  per- 
suasiveness of  colour  and  tone,  might  be  charged 
with  ugliness,  but  as  the  record  of  a human  indi- 
vidual is  extraordinarily  arresting  and  satisfactory. 
Considered  from  the  more  general  standpoint  of  a 
work  of  art,  it  might  be  the  better  for  some  of  those 
tricks  of  grace  in  which  our  young  students  nowa- 
days are  drilled  to  be  proficient.  Let  us  grant  it, 
but  with  the  amendment,  that  here  is  an  instance 
where  a picture  may  be  superior  to  a mere  work  of 
art;  that  there  is  in  Eakins  a capacity  broader  and 
deeper  than  that  of  simply  being  an  artist.  He  has 

[23£] 


REALISM 


the  qualities  of  manhood  and  mentality  that  are  not 
too  conspicuous  in  American  painting. 

ararararardrarararara* 

They  appear  again  in  Winslow  Homer,  the 
painter  of  the  Ocean.  He  is  our  greatest  expo- 
nent of  Realism,  with  nothing,  however,  of  the  Aca- 
demician in  his  make-up.  Rather,  one  may  see 
in  him  some  traces  of  the  Barbizon  influence,  and  of 
other  later  influences  yet  to  be  described ; but  in  the 
main  he  is  a painter  who  has  worked  out  for  him- 
self his  own  development. 

Independence  has  been  the  ruling  characteristic 
of  his  life.  He  began  his  career  as  an  assistant  in  a 
lithographic  shop  in  Boston,  and  there  acquired  a 
distaste  for  doing  things  according  to  the  dictates 
of  other  people.  The  Civil  War  broke  out,  and  the 
Harpers  offered  him  a position  as  their  illustrator 
at  the  front.  He  refused  to  bind  himself  by  any 
contract,  but  joined  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
and  thence  sent  back  to  the  office  drawings  of  such 
incidents  of  camp  life  as  caught  his  eye  and  in- 
terest, which  appeared  regularly  in  “ Harper’s 
Weekly.”  At  the  same  time  he  practised  oil-paint- 
ing, and  at  length  produced  a picture  to  which  the 
stirring  emotions  of  the  time  lent  a considerable 
popularity.  In  this  Prisoners  from  the  Front  he 
represented  a batch  of  Confederate  troops  passing 
to  the  rear  through  groups  of  Union  soldiers. 
After  the  war  he  remained  for  a time  in  the  South, 

[ ^SS  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


painting  rural  scenes,  especially  of  negro  life. 
They  reveal  a keenness  of  observation  and  a certain 
straightforward  method  of  representation,  but  are 
not  yet  essentially  the  work  of  a painter,  nor  of  any 
considerable  artistic  merit.  To-day  they  are  chiefly 
interesting  as  evidence  of  their  author’s  resolute 
intention  to  see  and  express  things  in  his  own  way. 

The  turning  point  in  his  career  was  reached  when 
he  transferred  his  studies  to  the  characteristics  of 
the  Maine  coast.  There  the  big,  simple  heroism 
of  the  fishermen  and  their  womenfolk  at  once  at- 
tracted him,  and  prompted  a number  of  pictures, 
the  very  titles  of  which  tell  their  own  direct  tale. 
In  the  Life  Line,  Undertow,  Danger,  Eight  Bells, 
AlVs  Well,  and  others  he  had  caught  the  spirit  of 
the  life;  the  tragedy  that  underlies  its  faithful 
routine  of  duty;  the  unconscious  bigness  of  it  all, 
as  Kipling  did  in  his  word-picture  of  the  Glou- 
cester fishermen  in  “ Captains  Courageous.”  To 
Homer  the  study  of  this  life  meant  the  enlargement 
of  his  own;  a deepening  of  his  motive,  the  gradual 
realisation  of  his  own  power  as  an  artist. 

Already  these  pictures  are  big  work ; big  in  their 
sympathy  with  and  comprehension  of  the  subject 
of  his  study.  They  were  to  be  succeeded  by  work 
that  was  even  bigger,  because  the  interest  that  im- 
pelled it  and  the  impression  it  produces  is  more 
abstract,  of  a more  universal  kind.  For,  it  was  no 
longer  the  ocean,  mainly  as  a background  to  the 

[ 231  ] 


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REALISM 


human  tragedy,  but  the  might  and  majesty  of  the 
ocean  itself,  that  now  attracted  him  supremely. 
Figures  may  be  introduced,  but  only  as  a musician 
employs  a theme  in  the  composition  of  his  fugue; 
and  oftentimes  the  sole  subject  of  contemplation  is 
the  ocean  itself.  In  daily  companionship  with  it, 
he  has  led  for  many  years  a solitary  life  upon  a 
spit  of  coast  near  Scarboro.  Its  wild  purple  and 
brown  rocks,  the  grey-green  seething  sea,  and  the 
immense  skies,  laden  with  wind  and  moisture,  have 
been  his  constant  and  sole  inspiration.  Their 
solemn  grandeur  has  entered  into  his  soul,  and  the 
work  which  it  has  inspired  is  without  any  rival  in 
American  art  for  originality  and  impressiveness. 

But  the  Realism  for  which  Courbet  contended 
was  only  a transitionary  phase  of  the  Realistic 
movement.  While  it  achieved  an  accuracy  of  form, 
it  failed  to  render  accurately  the  colour  of  form, 
and  its  true  appearance  as  affected  by  light  and 
atmosphere.  In  this  further  contribution  to  real- 
istic painting  Manet  was  the  leader,  and  he  drew  his 
inspiration  from  Velasquez.  It  has  so  profoundly 
affected  the  painter’s  point  of  view  and  method 
that  it  must  be  comprehended  by  everyone  who 
would  understand  the  general  trend  of  modern 
painting,  and  its  particular  bias  in  America. 
For  it  was  enthusiasm  for  this  new  teaching  that 
characterised  the  students  who  returned  home  in  the 

[237] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


late  ’eighties  and  early  ’nineties;  and  while  some 
of  them  for  a time  displayed  the  extravagance  of 
neophytes,  the  principles  for  which  they  stood  have 
prevailed. 

To  state  the  matter  as  briefly  as  possible,  the  re- 
covery of  Velasquez,  dating  from  1857,  gradually 
brought  about  the  following  changes: 

Firstly,  it  affected  the  painter’s  way  of  seeing 
things.  It  substituted  for  a realism  of  observation 
such  as  is  recorded  by  the  camera,  a painter’s  way 
of  seeing;  for  a detailed  analysis,  a pictorial  syn- 
thesis or  summary.  It  was  realised  that  Velas- 
quez painted  what  he  could  see,  not  what  he  knew 
was  present  to  his  eyes.  INIeissonier,  for  example, 
in  painting  a charge  of  cavalry,  because  he  knew 
that  every  horse  had  bit  and  bridle  and  buckles, 
every  rider  sundry  buttons  on  his  uniform,  repre- 
sented all  and  each  with  microscopic  fidelity. 
Velasquez,  on  the  contrary,  making  his  eyes  the 
standard,  took  in  the  figure,  or  scene,  as  a whole, 
with  swift  comprehensive  glance,  and  then  ren- 
dered the  impression  he  had  received.  Following 
his  example,  the  moderns  began  to  paint  “ im- 
pressions,” to  be,  as  the  phrase  was  coined, 
“ impressionists.”  * 

Secondly,  it  affected  a change  in  the  way 
painters  regarded  colour  and  their  manner  of  lay- 

* This  original  significance  of  the  term  impressionist,  we 
shall  find,  was  subsequently  modified.  See  page  266. 

*[  238  ] 


CojJyrigut,  lOOG,  by  Sergeant  Kendall 


AN  INTERLUDE 


Sergeaxt  Kendall 


^ M ^ HIS  artist  sees  nature  in  a waj/  pecidiar  to  himself,  u'ith  a sharpness  of  vision 
t that  seems  to  take  little  account  of  the  subduing  effects  of  atmosphere,  yet  he 
comprehends  the  mystery  udimh  underlies  the  obvious  appearance.  The  senti- 
ment in  his  pictures  always  rings  true. 


OXE  of  the  younger  artists  exhibits  a bigger  feeling  for  the  elemental  grandeur  of  rocks  and  ocean. 


REALISM 


ing  on  the  paint.  Velasquez’s  subdued  harmonies 
of  blacks  and  greys,  sparingly  relieved  with  yel- 
lows, blues,  and  old  rose,  opened  their  eyes  to 
the  fascination  of  subtleties,  as  compared  with  the 
brilliance  of  strongly  contrasted  tints.  The  long, 
sweeping  contours  of  his  figures  promoted  a taste 
for  the  dignity  of  simple  lines  and  massy  composi- 
tions. His  manner  of  relieving  the  monotony  of 
the  large  coloured  masses — black,  grey,  or  other- 
wise— by  breaking  them  into  several  tones,  and 
giving  them  a character  of  distinction  through  the 
broad  and  virile  handling  of  a brush,  loaded  with 
paint,  taught  the  value  at  once  of  subtlety  and  of 
effective  craftsmanship.  It  made  it  clear  that  the 
brush  and  not  the  crayon  was  the  tool  to  be  relied 
upon,  and  gave  an  impetus  to  the  art  of  painting, 
as  distinguished  from  the  art  of  drawing  a figure 
and  subsequently  tinting  it. 

Thirdly,  the  extraordinarily  natural  appearance 
of  Velasquez’s  figures  and  scenes,  summed  up  by 
Gautier  when  in  front  of  the  Maids  of  Honour 
he  exclaimed,  “ Where  is  the  picture?  ” set  the 
painters  to  discovering  its  secret.  It  was  found  to 
be  due  to  the  fact  that  Velasquez  placed  his  figures, 
as  they  appeared  in  nature,  within  a surrounding 
envelope  of  lighted  atmosphere;  and  that  his 
method  of  doing  so  had  been  the  accurate  rendering 
of  the  exact  amount  of  light  given  off  from  every 
visible  part  of  the  figure  or  object  represented.  So 

[ ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


now  the  painters,  coining  a new  word  to  explain 
their  intentions,  began  to  occupy  themselves  with 
“ values.’’ 

To  sum  up : these  discoveries  eff ected  the  emanci- 
pation of  painting  from  the  thraldom  of  Academic 
draughtsmanship.  It  restored  the  actual  crafts- 
manship of  the  brush  to  an  honourable  standing, 
and  gave  the  painter  thereby  an  opportunity  of  de- 
veloping and  exhibiting  his  individuality.  You 
may  recognise  a man’s  brushwork  as  you  can  an- 
other’s handwriting.  Further,  it  changed  the 
method  of  painting.  For  now,  instead  of  making 
an  elaborate  drawing  of  the  figure,  accurately 
shaded,  and  then  laying  on  the  paint  with  a care- 
ful, almost  timorous  intention  not  to  lose  touch  with 
the  original  drawing,  the  painter,  satisfied  with  a 
preliminary  sketch  that  merely  indicates  the  general 
form  and  its  position  on  the  canvas,  builds  up  his 
figure  from  the  start  by  successive  layers  of  paint, 
so  as  to  reproduce  the  successive  planes  of  lighted 
surface  which  the  figure  presents.  It  is  a vigorous 
method,  but  yet  it  admits  of  the  fullest  amount  of 
subtlety  of  observation  and  representation.  It  in- 
volves also  a much  more  realistic  as  well  as  vigor- 
ous rendering  of  the  subject — an  immense  step  in 
the  direction  of  effecting  a union  of  art  and  life. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  ’sixties  this  method 
of  painting  spread,  until  it  has  become  a usual 
practice  of  painters  and  the  basis  of  instruction  for 

[242] 


CALM  BEFORE  A STORM  Allen  B.  Talcott 

HIS  artist  at  'present  makes  his  summer  home  on  the  Connecticut  River,  near  Lyme. 
His  landscapes  are  characterized  not  less  by  a feeling  for  the  vigorous  aspects  of  nature 
than  by  a sensitiveness  toward  the  varying  expressions  of  her  moods  of  atmospheric  change. 


MRS.  CARL  MEYER  AND  CHILDREN  John  S.  Sargext 

O.VC  of  the  artist's  most  ravlshinghj  dainty  conceptions  of  femininity.  The 
costume  of  the  lady  Is  a delicate  shell-pink,  and  the  whole  color-scheme, 
notwithstanding  the  size  of  the  canvas,  has  the  exquisiteness  of  a morsel  of 
Dresden  china. 


REALISM 


students.  While  Manet  and  many  others  influ- 
enced the  vogue  by  their  example,  Carolus-Duran 
was  the  first  and  most  distinguished  of  the  regular 
teachers  of  it.  His  most  important  pupil,  at  any 
rate  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  present  story, 
was  John  S.  Sargent,  whose  work  is  in  an  eminent 
degree  representative  of  what  the  most  skilful  of 
our  modern  portrait-painters  are  doing. 

Of  New  England  stock,  the  son  of  a physician 
who  had  retired  from  practice  in  Philadelphia, 
John  Singer  Sargent  was  born  in  1856,  in  Flor- 
ence, where  his  boyhood  and  youth  were  spent. 
Brought  up  amid  the  advantages  of  cultured  home- 
life  and  of  early  and  constant  familiarity  with  the 
artistic  treasures  of  that  beautiful  city,  he  learned 
to  draw  and  paint  at  the  local  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts.  He  was  already  skilful  beyond  the  average 
of  students  and  grounded  in  knowledge  of  great 
art  and  trained  in  taste,  by  the  time  that  he  went 
to  Paris  to  study  under  Carolus-Duran.  Having 
rapidly  assimilated  that  master’s  teaching,  he 
visited  Madrid  and  studied  Velasquez  in  the  Prado, 
and  afterwards  moved  to  Holland,  where  the  por- 
traits of  Hals  attracted  him.  Later  he  was  influ- 
enced by  those  of  the  Scottish  artist,  Raeburn. 
His  style  is  a brilliant  epitome  of*  these  various 
sources  of  technical  inspiration. 

Instead,  however,  of  trying  to  trace  his  particular 
[ 245  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


obligation  to  each  of  these,  it  may  be  more  prac- 
tically useful  to  attempt  a summary  of  what  char- 
acterises his  own  style.  Its  charm  is  a combination 
of  vivid  impressions  and  of  extraordinarily  vital 
and  elfective  technique. 

As  becomes  a student  of  Velasquez,  what  he 
paints  is  the  impression  that  the  subject  produces 
on  liis  mind.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  impression 
were  generally  one  that  had  been  immediately  regis- 
tered; but,  even  if  he  has  had  to  wait  for  it,  by  the 
time  it  reaches  him,  it  does  so  with  such  vividness 
that  it  appears  to  have  all  the  freshness  of  immedi- 
acy. On  rare  occasions,  however,  his  portraits  are 
laboured  and  incompletely  realised;  it  is  then,  we 
may  conjecture,  that  he  has  failed  to  receive  a 
strong  impression. 

As  a rule,  his  portraits  reveal  no  psychological 
analysis,  or  poetry  of  feeling,  nor,  except  possibly 
in  some  of  his  portraits  of  children,  any  sympathy 
with  the  subject.  Dispassionate  as  a mirror,  for 
the  most  part,  with  equal  fidelity  and,  at  times, 
relentlessness,  his  mind  reflects  the  surface  charac- 
teristics of  his  sitter,  the  mannerisms  of  expression, 
evidence  of  social  or  professional  caste,  the  indi- 
vidualities of  dress  and  gesture,  suggestions  of  tem- 
perament and  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  the 
person  moves.  No  painter  of  the  present  day  can 
better  render  the  elegance  of  fashionable  feminin- 
ity. But  while  he  revels  in  the  opportunity  of 

[246] 


PORTRAIT  OF  MISS  BEATRICE  GOELET  Johx  S.  Sargent 


/JV  his  child-portraits i of  which  this  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful^  Sargent 
exhibits  a sympathetic  personal  feeling  that  is  ordinarily  apart  from  his 
work.  This  one  suggests  a tenderness  for  the  little  subject  amounting 
almost  to  romance ; and  yet  with  what  an  assurance  and  virility  it  is  painted^ 
and  with  what  unerring  taste  and  judgment  the  quaintness  of  the  costume  is 
echoed  in  the  bizarrerie  of  the  bird-cage  and  the  unusualness  of  the  composition. 


Jony  S.  Sargev: 


PORTRAIT  OF  HENRY  G.  MARQUAND 


HIS  portrait  of  the  second  president  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  {1S90-1902),  the  coUec 
tion  of  which  his  taste  and  munificence  so  materially  enriched,  is  one  of  Sargent  s greates 
successes  in  dignity  and  depth  of  characterization. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  xMetropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  Yorl 


REALISM 


luxurious  display,  he  is  never  carried  away  by  it. 
It  interests  him  as  a problem  for  his  brush.  Con- 
sciously he  never  flatters,  unconsciously  he  may 
sometimes  do  less  than  justice;  sometimes  also  he 
fails  to  secure  a likeness,  for  it  is  not  as  an  indi- 
vidual, but  as  a type,  that  the  sitter  chiefly  interests 
him. 

As  a matter  of  fact,  his  main  interest  is  in  his 
technique,  and  in  the  artistic  problem  that  the 
subject  offers.  Because  of  this  he  is  often,  perhaps 
generally,  puzzling  to  the  public,  and  appreciated 
best  by  brother  craftsmen,  who  speak  of  him  as  a 
“ painter’s  painter.”  Knowing  the  difflculties  of 
painting,  they  are  alike  astonished  and  enthusiastic 
at  the  audacity  with  which  he  attacks  a problem, 
and  at  the  masterful  ease  with  which  he  solves  it. 
Not  that  this  is  always  the  product  of  a magical 
facility,  but  often  of  exacting  self-criticism,  in- 
domitable perseverance,  and  patient  renewal  of 
effort.  Again  and  again,  if  necessary,  he  will 
scrape  out,  until  he  has  realised  his  intention,  by 
which  time  the  labour  of  endeavour  will  have  disap- 
peared in  the  triumph  of  achievement.  The  latter, 
to  speak  of  it  in  untechnical  language,  is  character- 
ised by  a maximum  of  suggestion  and  a mini- 
mum of  apparent  means,  the  latter  thrilling  with 
animation. 

As  to  the  suggestion.  When  a painter  copies 
exactly  what  he  sees  in  front  of  him,  as,  for  exam- 

[249] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAX  PAIXTIXG 


ple,  AIeissonier  did,  and  our  own  John  G.  Brown, 
you  can  peer  into  the  canvas  at  close  range  and 
find  every  detail  rendered  with  minute  finish.  But 
that  is  not  how  we  view  people  in  real  life;  we  do 
not  step  close  up  to  them  and  peer  into  their  faces 
and  scrutinise  every  particle  of  their  costumes. 
W^e  watch  them  from  a little  distance  off,  and  get 
a general  impression  of  their  personality  and  ap- 
j)earance.  It  is  this  that  Sargent  strives  to  give 
us.  W hen  you  are  close  to  one  of  his  canvases 
you  are  confronted  with  a numher  of  hold  dabs  or 
sweeping  strokes  of  paint  that  to  the  inexpert  eye 
convey  no  meaning:  hut  step  hack,  so  as  to  gain,  as 
it  were,  a ])erspective,  and  those  dabs  and  patches 
resolve  themselves  into  modelling  of  features  and 
hands,  and  the  delineation  of  draperies  and  acces- 
sories. But,  admitting  it  is  so,  you  may  ask  in 
what  consists  the  advantage  of  this  method?  The 
answer  involves  a j)sychological  consideration,  that 
this  process  demands  a greater  exercise  of  mentality 
on  the  part  of  both  artist  and  spectator. 

The  exact  imitation  of  a button  gives  you  no 
more  mental  excitation  than  the  original  button 
would.  Skill  and  patient  precision  were  required 
to  manufacture  the  original,  and  the  same  qualities, 
carried  j)erhaps  a little  farther,  were  employed  on 
its  imitation;  and,  while  we  may  exclaim,  “How 
wonderful!”  we  do  so  because  the  wonder  is  that 
anyone  could  liave  sucli  extraordinary  patience.  In- 

[ 250  ] 


PORTRAIT  GROUP  Johx  S.  Sargext 

^ M ^ HE  portraits  in  order  from  the  spectator's  left  are  of  Dr.  William  II.  Welch, 
t Dr.  William  S.  Halsted  (standing),  Dr.  William  Osier,  and  Dr.  Howard  A. 
Kelly.  The  heads  are  finely  characterized.  The  background  of  brown  wood- 
work is  not  very  happily  rendered  in  the  original,  lacking  depth  of  atmosphere.  In 
the  reproduction  it  is  worse  than  it  should  be,  as  the  canvas  was  not  properly 
stretched  and  the  photograph  showed  wrinkles. 

In  the  Collection  of  Johns  Hopkins  University 


A wni  rt.-il  1 


-ittMAu  n. 

thrm^  '''  a spontaneous  pose  o/tlie  i 

.V.A  /</.,  „„^  Ms  MUty  ,0  render  e.prLon  ' 


REALISM 


stead  of  stimulating  the  mind,  it  makes  us  tired  to 
think  of  it;  just  as  we  have  to  disguise  our  bore- 
dom when  a person  insists  on  telling  us  every  petty 
detail  of  some  occurrence  that  to  start  with  was 
not  of  much  account.  On  the  other  hand,  to 
analyse,  as  Sargent  does,  a certain  effect,  so  abso- 
lutely that  the  essential  of  it  is  discovered,  and  then 
to  determine  just  how  that  essential  may  best  be 
rendered,  and  out  of  many  possible  methods  to 
select  unerringly  the  precise  one  which  will  put  his 
mental  conception  into  immediate  shape — this  rep- 
resents a keen  and  vigorous  mental  exercise,  the 
magnetism  of  which,  if  we  study  his  work,  will 
stimulate  us.  Moreover,  since,  as  a rule,  in  the 
finished  picture  each  stroke  is  there  as  it  came  hot 
and  straight  from  his  constructive  imagination,  the 
whole  subject  has  the  thrill  of  life.  And  this,  you 
will  observe,  is  something  more  than  being  life-like. 

Sargent’s  eminence  has  had  a great  influence 
upon  American  painting.  On  the  one  hand,  it  has 
helped  to  popularise  the  new  method  of  painting, 
and,  on  the  other,  to  foster  the  idea  that  masterful- 
ness of  technique  may  justify  a lack  of  ability  or 
inclination  to  penetrate  the  character  of  the  sitter. 
For,  like  Carolus-Duran,  he  is  a brilliant  exponent 
of  the  material  and  mundane,  for  the  most  part 
engrossed  in  his  impression  of  externals. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  this  story  to  summarise  re- 
[253] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


suits,  and  therefore  it  may  be  convenient  to  divide 
American  portraiture  into  two  classes. 

Omitting  from  our  present  review  a good  many 
portraits  which  simply  represent  more  or  less  honest 
mediocrity,  we  may  sum  up  the  more  conspicuously 
skilful  ones  as  either  portraits  of  esprit  or  portraits 
of  character.  The  former  with  us,  as  elsewhere, 
are  in  the  majority.  They  are  distinguished  by 
manifest  dexterity  of  brush  work  and  by  animated 
and  piquant  rendering  of  the  sitter’s  exterior  and  of 
such  hints  of  personality  as  lie  near  the  surface  and 
are  expressed  by  individual  mannerisms.  The  best 
of  such  portraits  are  those  of  women,  which  permit 
the  added  charm  of  attractive  costumes  and  of  sur- 
roundings that  are  pervaded  with  the  atmosphere 
of  refined  elegance.  We  have  elsewhere  spoken  of 
portraits  of  this  kind  by  Chase,  and  may  supple- 
ment them  by  the  examples  of  Irving  R.  Wiles, 
J.  J.  Shannon,  Cecilia  Beaux,  Adelaide  Cole  Chase, 
and  Frank  W.  Benson.  The  work  of  each  of  these 
admirably  represents  the  qualities  above  referred 
to,  and  in  certain  instances  may  seem  to  indicate  a 
deeper  appreciation  of  character.  It  is  because  of 
a still  more  marked  intention  in  this  direction  that 
I mention  separately  the  work  of  John  W.  Alex- 
ander. Nevertheless,  he  is  perhaps  more  character- 
istically represented  by  what  I have  chosen  to  call 
the  portrait  of  hprit,  in  his  case  distinguished  by 
a very  decorative  composition  and  a flat  manner  of 

[ 254  ] 


MISS  KITTY 


J.  J.  Shannox 


r # yHIS  painter y who  lives  in  London > must  not  he  confused  with  the 
# English  painter,  Charles  H.  Shannon.  The  .nmple  sincerity,  both  of 
feeling  and  technique,  which  distinguishes  this  early  example,  has 
scarcely  been  sustained  in  his  later  portraits. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Carnegie  Art  Institute,  Pittsburgh 


PORTRAIT  OF  ADELAIDE  NUTTING  Cecilia  Beaux 

J^OR  the  compute  naturalness  and  simple  diffnity  of  its  pose,  for  the 
£l  n dlmnt  d, redness  and  meanimjfulness  of  its  hruslmork.  and'' for  its 

bodu  '■»  fhe  head  and  hands  and  carriage  of  the 

body,  this  portrait  represents  Miss  Beanv  at  her  best.  ^ 


III  the  Collection  of  the  Johns  Hopkins  Hospital 


REALISM 


painting  that  enhances  the  decorative  suggestion. 
He  has  been  happily  represented  also  by  many 
purely  figure  subjects. 

Foremost  among  the  portraitists  of  character 
stands  Wilton  Lockwood,  the  example  of  whose 
work  illustrated  here  exhibits  the  soundness,  sub- 
tlety and  imaginative  insight  of  his  present  ma- 
tured style.  Another  painter  whose  portraits, 
too  rarely  seen,  possess  the  qualities  of  depth  and 
force,  is  Joseph  de  Camp.  They  both  work  in 
Boston,  as  also  does  Frederic  P.  Vinton,  whose 
portraits  of  men,  while  less  dexterous  in  tech- 
nique, are  powerful  records  of  the  strong  breed 
that  is  shaping  the  life  of  affairs  in  modern 
America. 

Indeed,  it  is  worth  notice  that  where  psychologi- 
cal insight  appears  in  an  American  portrait,  the 
subject  will  usually  be  a man.  The  same  is  true 
to-day  in  France,  just  as  it  was  in  England  at 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  That  the  de- 
cline of  the  English  Portrait  School  was  due  in 
a large  measure  to  the  excessive  popularity  of  the 
portraits  of  women  of  fashion,  with  all  its  tempta- 
tion to  the  artist  of  pre-occupying  himself  with  fur- 
belows and  finery  in  lieu  of  stronger  and  deeper 
qualities,  can  scarcely  be  doubted;  and  equally  in 
modern  America  the  same  cause  is  at  work,  retard- 
ing the  lustier  growth  of  our  art. 

Parallel  with  this  tendency  to  lack  of  character 
[^57] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


in  portraiture  runs  a poverty  of  imagination  in 
figure-painting  generally.  With  a few  exceptions, 
it  is  very  apparent  in  American  painting,  and  for 
a while  was  equally  characteristic  of  French  art. 
It  has  been  a perhaps  not  unnatural  result  of  the 
attention  paid  to  technique.  The  new  methods 
were  so  fascinating  that  painters  became  too  much 
enamoured  of  the  skill  with  which  they  could  render 
the  appearances  of  things.  Many  lost  sight  of  the 
fact  that  technique  is  but  the  means  to  expres- 
sion, and  extolled  it  as  an  end  in  itself.  Hence 
was  started  in  Paris,  and  thence  imported  to 
America,  the  confession  of  faith  in  “art  for  art’s 
sake.” 

It  had,  as  other  such  rallying  cries,  a modicum 
of  sanity  and  much  extravagance.  It  was  in  its 
best  sense  a protest  against  the  dependence  of 
painting  upon  literature,  and  against  the  tendency 
to  consider  the  subject  of  more  importance  than 
the  method  of  representation.  It  was  an  assertion 
never  out  of  place,  that  the  quality  of  the  artistic 
form  must  be  the  final  test  of  a work  of  art.  But 
it  ran  to  extravagance  in  assuming  that  the  artistic 
form  was  the  only  test;  that  what  it  might  embody 
was  of  no  account  at  all;  that  the  method  of  pre- 
sentation was  the  first,  last,  and  only  important 
concern  of  the  artist.  It  put  asunder  the  twain 
that  should  be  one  fiesh — the  form  and  the  expres- 
sion. The  result  was  for  a time,  sterility;  much 

[258  ] 


TRAIT  OF  .AIRS.  THOMAS  HASTINGS  Joiix  AV.  Alexander 

X this  charminglif  vivacious  characterization  the  artist  has  exhibited  to  a marked 
degree  the  appearance  of  brilliant  improvisation  that  his  particular  technique 
suggests. 


PORTRAIT 


WiLTOX  Lockwood 

rT^riOrOrf  he  suhsequentUf  studied  in  Paris,  Lockwoods  early  training  uas 
/ under  John  La  Large,  bg  whose  influence  his  own  temperament  was  con- 
prmed  in  its  preference  for  profound  and  subtle  study.  It  is^  the  spiritua 
rather  than  the  phifsical  ego  that  he  tries  to  compass:  and  his  portraits,  envelope  • 
in  atmosphere  and  elaborated  into  a eery  subtle  orchestration  of  color,  while  tliei 
suggestion  of  the  figure  is  sufficiently  real,  e.rcel  as  evocations  of  the  inner  person- 
ality of  the  sitter.  His  portrait  of  John  La  Large  is  another  most  distinguished  work. 


REALISM 


cry  and  little  wool;  plenty  of  good  workmanship, 
but  a poverty  of  emotional  or  spiritual  significance. 

Meanwhile,  landscape  painting,  for  the  most 
part  unaffected  by  this  tendency,  kept  steadily  on 
its  path  of  progress.  We  resume  its  story  in  the 
next  chapter. 


[S61] 


CHAPTER  XII 


FURTHER  STUDY  OF  LIGHT  AND  PROGRESS  OF 
LANDSCAPE 

WE  have  already  seen  how  American 
painting  has  been  affected  by  the  in- 
fluence of  Velasquez.  By  an  age  that 
had  become  enamoured  of  realism  he  was  discovered 
to  have  been  the  most  distinguished  of  realists ; not 
only  in  his  way  of  seeing  his  subject,  but  of  rep- 
resenting it.  Modern  painters  imitated  his  impres- 
sionistic way  of  comprehending  and  summarising 
the  subject,  and  his  method  of  painting  the 
“values,”  or  varying  quantities  and  qualities  of 
light  given  off  from  every  part  of  the  figure  and 
scene.  In  one  respect,  however,  they  carried  the 
realism  of  painting  a step  further  than  Velasquez. 
He  had  painted  for  the  most  part  in  the  grey  light 
of  Philip  the  Fourth’s  palace;  they,  however,  ex- 
tended their  studies  of  light  into  the  open  air  and 
experimented  in  the  representation  of  all  kinds  and 
degrees  of  light.  This  has  been  the  special  contri- 
bution of  modern  times  to  the  art  of  painting. 

It  represents  the  final  emancipation  of  the 
painter  not  only  from  the  restrictions  of  Academic 
draughtsmanship,  but  also  from  subservience  to 

[262] 


Robert  Hekri 


LADY  IN  BLACK 

jA  portrait  beautiful  in  feeling  and  particularly 
distinguished  for  the  breadth  and  expressiveness  of 
the  brushwork.  The  influence  of  Velasquez  is  notice- 
able in  his  work.  He  is  a leader  of  the  younger  men,  who  are 
bent  upon  making  sound  brushwork  and  virility  of  vision  the 
basis  of  their  art.  An  able  technician,  he  is  also  a man  of 
fine  equalities  of  mind  and  imagination. 


Copyrii^ht,  190T,  by  X.  E.  Montrosa 

AGAINST  THE  SKY 


Frank  W.  Benson 


OXE  of  the  daintiest  conceptions  of  this  Boston  artist,  who  has  made  a close  study  of  American 
femininity  and  effects  of  pure  sunlight. 


PROGRESS  OF  LANDSCAPE 


the  Old  Masters  in  the  picture  galleries.  He  would 
be  free  of  all  conventions  and  see  the  world  for 
himself ; no  longer  through  the  medium  of  varnish 
and  the  dirt  and  discoloration  of  time  that  dis- 
figured the  old  pictures,  but  in  all  the  freshness  of 
its  real  colouring.  It  was,  on  the  one  hand,  a 
logical  extension  of  the  nature-study  of  the  Bar- 
bizon  men;  and,  on  the  other,  the  painter’s  con- 
formity with  the  realistic  and  scientific  tendency  of 
the  time. 

Manet’s  study  of  sunlight  started  the  vogue  of 
plein  air.  Men  began  to  paint  in  the  open  air. 
Among  the  earliest  and  best  of  the  pictures  pro- 
duced under  this  condition  were  those  of  Alexander 
Harrison,  a native  of  Philadelphia.  In  Arcady, 
for  example,  represents  a fragment  of  a meadow, 
interspersed  with  gnarled  trunks  and  slender  tree 
stems,  among  which,  in  easy  natural  attitudes,  are 
grouped  three  nude  girls.  The  sunlight  filters 
through  the  canopy  of  leaves,  dappling  the  grass 
and  gilding  here  and  there  a leaf  or  blade  of  grass, 
glancing  over  the  human  forms  and  touching  the 
delicate  flesh  tones  with  shafts  of  radiance.  It 
was  the  product  at  once  of  keen  observation  and  of 
sure  and  dainty  craftsmanship,  while  it  breathed  a 
spirit  of  poetry  that  lifted  the  whole  scene  into  an 
idyl.  Even  more  decisive,  however,  both  in  its 
virtuosity  and  in  its  effect  upon  contemporary 
painting,  was  his  later  picture.  The  Wave,  which  is 

[265] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


now  in  the  galleries  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy 
of  the  Fine  Arts.  For  the  first  time  the  true  colour- 
ing of  the  blue  water,  curling  over  a smooth,  sandy 
shore,  had  been  searched  into  and  recorded;  the 
light  that  glinted  on  its  crest,  lay  on  the  shining 
curve  of  the  swell,  or  nestled  in  the  hollow  of  the 
trough — each  aspect  had  been  rendered  in  its  true 
relation.  And  the  result  of  this  truthful  rendering 
of  the  passage  of  light  over  the  wave  was  to  in- 
crease the  suggestion  of  the  latter’s  movement. 
The  picture  was  a beautiful  lesson  in  colour,  light, 
and  movement. 

This  trinity  of  qualities  became  the  faith  of  the 
moderns.  It  is  literally  a three  in  one:  light  the 
source,  colour  the  product,  movement  the  spirit  or 
expression.  Let  the  Academicians  be  satisfied  to 
keep  to  a convention  in  which  art  is  divorced  from 
life.  It  was  the  aim  of  the  new  men  to  effect  a 
union  of  the  two,  to  make  art  an  expression  of 
nature  and  of  human  life,  and,  incidentally,  of  their 
own  temperaments,  or  souls.  The  secret  of  this 
they  had  discovered  in  the  study  of  that  element 
wherein  things  live  and  move  and  have  their  being. 
It  was  no  longer  form  alone  that  had  to  be  con- 
sidered; but  form  in  relation  to  and  as  affected 
by  the  surrounding,  that  it  has  in  nature,  of  lighted 
atmosphere.  And  this  study  gave  a more  definite 
meaning  to  Impressionism.  It  is  realism  extended 
by  study  of  what  the  French  call  the  milieu — the 

[266] 


1 


Cl  b 


• S O 

I’ 


§ ^ s 

.2  ^ J 

s ^ L 
- E ^ 
I « t 
s 

^ 1^  § 

Vir  s 

11'^ 


i g ^ 

e 

Ci  g ■< 

Q>  -?s  ^ 

J|| 

til 

^ 5i- 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


Copyright,  1905.  by  X.  E.  Montroii 


F.  W.  Beksok 


CALM 

A 


OKXING 


. J -f  h'e 

OOD  example  of  this  Boston 


i 


PROGRESS  OF  LANDSCAPE 


surrounding  conditions,  through  which  the  subject 
is  viewed.  And  this  is  the  principle  that  distin- 
guishes the  newer  realism  from  such  realistic  pic- 
tures as  those,  for  example,  of  the  Diisseldorfians. 
The  latter  represented  scenes  of  peasant  life,  in 
which  the  characters  are  playing  more  or  less  natu- 
ral parts;  but  the  realism  is  confined  to  the  forms, 
and  does  not  embrace  a representation  of  the  actual 
conditions  of  light  and  atmosphere  in  which  they 
would  appear  in  nature.  They  painted  realistic 
pictures,  but  they  did  not  represent  the  real  mani- 
festations of  life. 

The  latter,  in  all  their  infinite  degrees  from 
seriousness  to  triviality,  became  the  study  of  the 
moderns.  The  result  has  been  a general  extension 
of  skilful  craftsmanship,  of  a painter-like  way  of 
seeing  and  rendering  the  subject,  which  has  not 
always  been  put  to  any  very  interesting  purpose. 
A vast  majority  of  modern  pictures,  including 
many  American  ones,  are  nothing  more  than  studies 
of  light  as  it  filters  through  muslin  curtains,  creeps 
between  the  slats  of  Venetian  blinds,  or  in  full  sun- 
shine pours  over  the  lace  caps  of  peasant  women  or 
the  white  gowns  of  first  communicants.  These 
devices,  multiplied  a thousandfold,  have  engrossed 
the  attention  of  the  painter.  He  has  been  ap- 
plauded by  his  brother  painters,  because  they  recog- 
nise the  subtlety  of  his  observation,  and  his  manual 
dexterity,  but  to  the  laymen,  who  regard  such  ex- 

[269] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


cellences  as,  after  all,  but  a means  to  an  end,  these 
pictures  have  become  more  than  a little  weari- 
some. It  is  as  if  a speaker  should  utter  an  inter- 
minable string  of  well-turned  phrases,  with  not  one 
idea  involved  in  them  to  stir  either  one’s  intelli- 
gence or  imagination-vacant  chaff. 

The  best  fruits  of  this  new  method  of  study  and 
practice  have  been  furnished,  at  any  rate  in  Amer- 
ica, by  the  landscape  painters.  It  is  to  their  ad- 
vantage that  they  do  not  have  to  hunt  up  or  invent 
subjects  for  pictures.  Nature  offers  them  an  in- 
exhaustible choice,  and  their  own  love  of  nature 
keeps  their  sympathies  active.  The  fascination  of 
technical  proficiency  seldom  monopolises  their  in- 
terest; they  feel  constantly  the  stirring  of  emotion 
in  themselves,  and  delight  to  express  it  in  their  pic- 
tures. The  latter  are  rarely  without  some  quality 
of  idealism. 

The  modern  landscape,  as  a rule,  is  characterised 
by  an  absence  of  strong  contrasts.  The  colours 
of  shadows  have  been  carefully  analysed,  and 
found  to  contain  more  light  and  a greater  variety 
of  colour  than  had  previously  been  suspected.  The 
shadow  is  regarded  no  longer  as  a dark  spot,  but 
as  a spot  from  which  more  or  less  light  has  been 
intercepted.  Therefore,  it  varies  in  density  ac- 
cording to  the  quality  of  light  that  pervades  the 
scene,  as  well  as  according  to  the  amount  of  light 
that  is  intercepted.  The  colours  of  shadows  also 

[270] 


RLS  READING 


By  Courtesy  of  N f'  Montroaa 


EDiMUND  C.  Tarjiell 


rN  V)hat  modern  genre  consists  is  admirably  shown  in  the  work  of  this  Boston  artist.  It  is  the  character 
of  the  scene  as  a whole  that  he  represents,  the  sum  total  of  the  impression  recorded  by  the  eye.  Further,  the 
jiarts  are  seen  in  their  variety  of  relations  to  one  another  and  the  ensemble,  everything  also  in  its  proper 
ieu  of  Uqlited  atmospheres  and  with  reference  to  the  latter  s diverse  effects  on  form,  color,  and  texture. 


A GENTLEWOMAN 


J.  Alden  Weir 


ONE  of  the  artist's  delicately  expressive  interpretatiovs  of  femininity.  Though  the  Under 
and  sjnritiml  feeling  culminates  in  the  rendering  of  the  head,  it  pervades  the  whole  canvas, 

shadowTZ:^  “ 0/ 

In  the  Collection  of  the  National  Gallery,  Washington 


PROGRESS  OF  LANDSCAPE 


are  not  uniform;  they  depend  upon  the  local  colour 
of  the  object  on  which  they  lie;  the  shadow  on 
grass,  for  instance,  differing  from  that  on  snow. 
Moreover,  the  colour  may  be  affected  in  tone  by 
the  reflections  from  other  adjacent  objects.  For 
instance,  the  shadow  on  a girl’s  face,  if  she  is  seated 
in  the  sunshine  upon  grass,  may  receive  from  the 
latter  a green  tone.  In  this  discrimination  of  the 
colour  and  tones  of  shadows,  the  quality  of  the 
prevailing  light,  as  we  have  remarked,  is  a most 
essential  ingredient. 

It  is,  in  fact,  in  analysing  the  different  kinds  and 
degrees  of  light  that  modern  painters  have  made 
a new  and  important  contribution  to  art.  They 
have  not  been  satisfied  with  general  distinctions 
between  bright  and  dull  light,  or  cold  and  warm, 
but  have  pushed  their  investigations  into  its  vary- 
ing aspects,  under  different  conditions  of  weather, 
seasorl,  locality,  and,  even,  time  of  day. 

In  this  close  analysis  of  the  varying  manifesta- 
tions of  light,  no  one  has  surpassed  the  Frenchman, 
Monet.  He  carried  forward  the  study  begun  by 
Manet;  and  there  are  few  modern  landscapes  that 
do  not  owe  something  to  his  example,  although 
they  may  not  follow  his  method.  The  latter  rep- 
resents a manner  of  laying  on  the  paint  to  which  the 
French  have  given  the  name  pointilliste,  since  it 
covers  the  canvas  with  innumerable  little  points  or 
dabs.  This  method  was  suggested  to  him  and  his 

[273] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


friends,  Seurat  and  Pissarro,  by  the  writings  of  the 
late  Professor  Rood  of  Columbia  University.  For 
they  recognised  that  in  this  study  of  light  the  dis- 
coveries of  scientists  might  aid  the  vision  of  the 
artist.  Among  the  experiments  described  by  Rood 
was  the  following: 

Two  or  three  pigments  having  been  selected, 
they  were  first  mixed  together,  as  a painter  would 
mix  them  on  his  palette,  and  applied  to  a white 
card.  Secondly,  each  pigment,  in  the  same  pro- 
portion as  before,  was  painted  directly  on  to  a white 
disc,  so  that  the  latter  was  covered  with  the  two  or 
three  segments  of  pure  colour.  When  this  disc 
was  revolved  rapidly,  these  blended  into  one  tint, 
that  corresponded  in  hue  with  that  obtained  by 
mixing  the  pigments  on  the  palette,  but  was  found 
to  be  more  intense,  for  it  contained  more  light. 
Monet  and  his  friends,  whose  prime  end  was  to 
represent  light,  derived  a hint  from  this  experi- 
ment. Instead  of  mixing  their  colours  on  the  pa- 
lette, they  would  lay  them  separately  on  the  canvas, 
very  close  together,  and  rely  upon  the  eye  of  the 
spectator,  at  the  requisite  distance,  to  effect  the 
blending.  For  an  actual  mingling  they  substi- 
tuted a visual  impression  of  it. 

Some  eyes,  however,  seem  to  be  physically  unable 
to  effect  this  blending;  many  more  are  offended  by 
the  spottiness  of  the  method;  moreover,  a great 
many  of  Monet’s  canvases  suggest  experiment 

[274] 


HE  FARM  IN  WINTER 


By  Courtesy  of  N.  E.  Montrose 


J.  Aldek  Weir 


I 


N his  landscapes  this  artist  exhibits  a virile  comprehension  of  the  actualities  of  the  scene, 
together  with  a refined  appreciation  of  the  subtleties  of  light  and  tone. 


Copyright,  1905,  by  N.  E.  Montrose 


LISTENING  TO  THE  ORCHARD  ORIOLE 


Childe  Hassai* 


fnr^HlS  well  illustrates  the  artist's  method  of  painting  in  separate  points  or  dahs  of  color  which 
' / even  in  the  black  and  white  reproduction,  suggests  that  the  whole  scene  palpitates  with  light. 

M . , . 7.  „7 r th.  nf  hl'yic  fp.fi.Una  that  underlies  his  keen  study  of  tn 


even  in  one  oiauK  (iniv  I ^ ^ 

M a charming  example  aho  of  the  strain  of  lyric  feeling  tlmt  underlies  lus  keen  study  of  ih 
natural  and  artistic  aspects  of  the  scene. 


PROGRESS  OF  LANDSCAPE 


rather  than  realisation,  and  are  embarrassing  even 
to  those  who  admire  his  best  work.  Consequently 
his  method  has  not  been  popular  either  with  painters 
or  with  the  public. 

The  latter,  however,  have  made  the  mistake, 
since  Monet  is  an  impressionist,  of  confounding 
this  method  with  impressionism,  with  which  it  has 
absolutely  nothing  to  do.  It  would  be  just  as 
reasonable  to  conclude  that  every  impressionist 
painter  wears  a sweater,  and  loose  trousers  turned 
up  over  strong  shoes.  The  one  is  Monet’s  method 
of  dressing,  as  the  other  is  of  painting ; neither  has 
anything  to  do  with  the  principles  which  underly 
his  motive  as  an  artist.  He  is  an  impressionist  be- 
cause, to  quote  the  definition  given  above,  he  has 
“ extended  realism  by  a study  of  the  milieu. He  is 
a leader  among  impressionists  because  he  has  been 
foremost  in  pushing  the  study,  so  as  to  include  an 
extended  variety  of  surrounding  conditions,  and  to 
discriminate  between  them  with  such  subtle  refine- 
ment. It  is  chiefly  due  to  his  influence  that  modern 
landscapes  are  so  pure  and  fresh  in  colour,  and  ex- 
hibit such  a subtlety  of  observation  and  expression. 

Among  the  very  few  Americans  who  have  di- 
rectly followed  his  method  the  most  distinguished 
is  Childe  Hassam.  His  earlier  efforts  are  marked 
by  the  crudity  that  is  inseparable  from  experimen- 
tation; but  of  late  years  he  has  mastered  the  dif- 
ficulties of  the  process,  and  his  pictures  now  present 

[ m ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


a unity  of  effect,  a vibrancy  of  colour,  and  a deli- 
cate esprit  both  of  style  and  feeling,  that  render 
them  almost  unique  in  American  art. 

Courbet  in  the  early  days  of  realism  used  to 
affirm  that  the  main  thing  for  each  painter  to  aim 
at  was  the  emancipation  of  the  individual;  and  in 
modern  landscape  this  has  certainly  been  achieved. 
The  close  study  of  the  actual  phenomena  of  nature, 
seen  necessarily  through  the  painter’s  own  eyes  and 
affected  by  his  own  peculiarity  of  temperament, 
has  produced  over  the  wide  field  of  landscape  a 
great  variety,  and  in  the  pictures  of  each  man  an 
equally  notable  individuality.  This  latter  fact 
makes  it  impossible  to  enumerate  examples.  Any 
attempt  to  characterise  our  landscape  painters  in 
batches,  according  to  some  assumed  similarity  of 
motive  or  method,  would  be  arbitrary  as  well  as 
inexact.  To  single  out  a few  names  would  work 
injustice  to  many  others,  and  be  outside  the  purpose 
of  our  story,  which  has  been  to  note  the  progress  of 
our  painting,  in  hope  that  the  reader  may  find  in 
the  general  statement  a clue  to  the  appreciation  of 
particular  individuals. 

Nevertheless,  I will  conclude  this  summary  of 
modern  American  landscape  with  a particular  in- 
stance. It  is  that  of  the  late  John  H.  Twachtman, 
whose  work  revealed  a quality  of  idealism  that  may 
be  said  to  represent  the  most  modern  note  in  paint- 
ing. Earlier  in  our  story  we  touched  upon  the 

[278] 


LORELEI 


Copyright,  100.3,  hy  TV.  E.  MontrmHi 


Childe  HaSSA31 


J PICTURE  of  exquhitdy  contrasted  effects:  the  pure  grace  of  the  human  form  and  the 
rugged  outlines  and  formations  of  the  cliffs  ; warm,  clear  sumhine,  respectively,  on  the  blue 
water,  the  creamy  smoothness  of  the  fesh,  and  the  pinks,  violets,  and  greens  of  the  indented 
rock;  lastly,  the  air  and  water,  brisk  and  alert,  the  figure  in  pensive  repose. 


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PROGRESS  OF  LANDSCAPE 


landscape  painter’s  study  of  the  forms  of  nature, 
as  a basis  for  any  subsequent  expression  of  senti- 
ment. It  is  not  the  least  of  the  enjoyment  to 
be  derived  from  many  pictures  that  they  make 
one  conscious  of  the  strong-ribbed  substance  of  the 
earth,  the  force  and  vigour  of  the  trees  and  vegeta- 
tion, the  reach  of  sky,  the  volume  and  buoyancy 
of  clouds,  and  the  weight  and  movement  of  water. 
Before  such  pictures  we  experience  that  stir  of 
blood  and  suggestion  to  the  imagination  which  we 
may  feel  in  the  presence  of  nature  itself,  and  often 
in  a heightened  form. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  may  be  pictures  in 
which  the  artist  has  so  thoroughly  comprehended 
the  facts  of  nature  that  for  his  own  need  and  ours 
he  can  lay  aside  the  consideration  of  them.  He 
has  extracted  from  them  their  essential  abstract 
significance,  so  that  he  interprets  that  highest  kind 
of  sentiment,  which  is  not  a product  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  personal,  but  a whisper  from  the  uni- 
versal. To  anyone  who  esteems  of  highest  value 
the  abstract  expression  in  a picture,  some  of  John 
H.  Twachtman’s  landscapes  are  of  superlative 
interest. 

Living  upon  a farm  near  Greenwich,  Connecti- 
cut, he  absorbed  the  facts  of  his  surroundings  so 
completely  that  their  very  spirit  entered  into  him, 
and  it  was  the  spirit  that  he  strove  to  render  on  can- 
vases that  are  marvels  of  delicate  tonality.  In 

[ 281  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


examples  like  the  Brook  in  Winter  (for  he  seems 
to  have  had  a partiality  for  winter  scenes),  it  is 
the  soul,  as  it  were,  of  the  still,  cold,  dormant 
world  that  he  has  rendered.  Never  has  been  bet- 
ter expressed  through  the  subtle  resources  of 
modern  methods  of  painting  the  suggestion  of  the 
abstract.  For  Twachtman,  in  technical  matters, 
was  a modern  of  the  moderns,  and  ahead  of  all  but 
a few  of  them  in  what  he  sought  to  express.  He 
realised,  as  Whistler,  for  example,  did,  that  if 
painting  in  the  future  is  to  hold  its  own  alongside 
the  developments  of  modern  music,  it  can  only  be 
by  finding  its  motive  in  the  abstract. 

His  best  work,  like  Whistler’s,  has  in  it  the  latest 
modern  note  of  idealism.  It  represents  the  effort 
of  the  artist  to  free  himself  from  the  encumbrance 
of  the  material,  by  giving  expression  to  the  spirit 
that  abides  in  matter. 


[282] 


THE  HEMLOCK  POOL 


John  W.  Twachtman 


J SPOT amow,  the  hills  near  Greenwich,  Conn.,  seen  and  felt  and  rendered  in  the  artists  most 
A characteristic  way.  The  snow,  faintly  blue,  fringes  tU  cold 

sorinkled  on  the  slopes,  oner  the  dead  vegetation  of  which  seems  to  hover  the  spmt  breath  of 
its  late  autumnal  coloring  in  faintest  suggestion  of  tawny  yellow,  rose,  and  violet.  In  the  dp,,  whit^ 
mLl  atmosphere  the  slender  tree-stems  stand,  as  if  silent.  Fecundity  is  checked;  nature  is  inert;  and 
the  soul  ofLture  is  stilled  in  the  grip  of  Winter.  The  whole  scene  is  an  emanation  of  nature  s spiiit, 

interpreted  through  the  spiritual  emotion  of  the  artist.  Colleclion  of  John  GeUatly,  Esq. 


I 


NE  half  the  picture  given  up)  to  the  hare  desolation  of  snow,  the  other  to  the  scarce! g less  desolate  diversity  of  a frost- 
hound  hrook  and  a clamp  of  trees,  ivhose  inertness  in  the  grip  of  cold  is  intensified  hy  the  contrast  of  a few  evergreens. 
Over  all  the  still,  chill  hreath  of  winter,  stirless,  soundless.  The  whole,  in  color,  a delicate  symphony  of  lifeless  hues. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


WHISTLER 

THE  previous  chapter  concluded  with  a 
reference  to  Whistler.  He  has  been  re- 
served until  the  close  of  the  story,  since  his 
art  in  a very  striking  way  reflected  the  various  in- 
fluences of  the  Impressionistic  movement.  To 
those  influences  which  we  have  already  discussed 
must  be  added  one  more — that  of  Japanese  art. 

It  was  in  the  early  ’sixties  that  the  Japanese 
prints  and  paintings  began  to  find  their  way  into 
Paris  studios  and  attract  the  interest  of  certain 
artists,  notably  of  Manet,  Monet,  and  Whistler. 
To  men  who  had  already  learned  to  appreciate 
Velasquez’s  impressionistic  way  of  seeing  his  sub- 
ject, his  dignity  of  line  and  the  subtlety  of  his 
colour  harmonies,  the  Japanese  work  came  as  a 
corroboration  of  the  lesson.  Here,  too,  were  mira- 
cles of  harmony  in  blacks  and  greys,  and  in  addi- 
tion a range  of  tonal  eifects  of  an  infinite  variety 
and  extraordinary  subtlety,  that  opened  up  to  the 
imagination  of  the  colourist  a new  world  of  mo- 
tives. They  offered  also  a new  principle  of  com- 
position. The  old  method  of  building  up  and 

[285] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


balancing,  invented  by  the  great  Italians  and  pre- 
served by  the  Academicians,  did  not  suit  the  pur- 
pose of  the  Impressionists  who  were  bent  on  achiev- 
ing a union  of  art  and  life.  In  real  life  people  do 
not  dispose  themselves  in  formal  groups,  and  affect 
set  poses;  the  suggestion  is  rather  of  spontaneity, 
unexpectedness,  and  movement.  How  to  reconcile 
these  with  unity  of  effect,  and  grace  and  dignity 
of  composition?  The  answer  was  discovered  in 
the  art  of  the  Japanese. 

It  appeared  that  they,  too,  were  Impressionists; 
not  interested  in  form  for  its  own  sake,  but  in  the 
suggestion  that  it  afforded  to  the  artist’s  imagina- 
tion, and  that  they  had  developed  a principle  of 
composition  suitable  to  their  needs.  The  aim  of 
the  artist  was  to  make  his  painting  or  drawing 
decorative,  but  instead  of  arranging  his  lines  and 
masses  in  a geometric  pattern,  suggested  by  the 
formality  of  architecture,  he  had  gone  to  nature 
for  inspiration.  In  nature  it  is  not  order  but  ir- 
regularity that  prevails,  and  yet  this  disorder  pre- 
sents appearances  of  unity  of  effect.  The  masses 
of  hills  against  the  sky,  the  contours  of  coastline 
as  it  pushes  its  way  sharply  into  the  sea,  or  recedes 
in  sw^elling  curves,  the  windings  of  rivers  and 
streams,  the  free  growth  of  vines,  and  the  spotting 
of  trees  against  the  hillside,  of  labourers  working 
in  the  rice-fields,  or  fishing  boats  dotting  the  dis- 
tant waters— these  and  countless  other  phenomena 

[286] 


WHISTLER 


had  gradually  taught  the  Japanese  to  find  a new 
kind  of  symmetry.  It  was  the  result  of  careful 
calculation,  and  gratified  the  eye  with  a sense  of 
unity ; yet  it  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  result 
of  accident.  It  was  characterised  by  spontaneity, 
unexpectedness,  and  movement. 

The  fitness  of  this  to  the  purpose  of  investing  the 
appearance  of  reality  with  artistic  charm  was  im- 
mediately apparent  to  artists  like  Manet,  Degas, 
Monet,  and  Whistler.  From  their  hands  it  passed 
to  others,  until  now  you  cannot  open  an  illustrated 
magazine  without  finding  the  evidence  of  it. 

But,  while  countless  men  have  adopted  this  tech- 
nical  principle,  some  few  have  discovered  the  psy- 
chological  motive  underlying  it.  In  the  best 
periods  of  Japanese  art,  religion  and  art  were  in-* 
separable.  The  philosophy  of  religion  taught  the 
supremacy  of  spirit  over  matter;  and  the  joy  and 
the  duty  of  the  artist  was  to  interpret  this  truth. 
So  by  him  perishable  matter  was  regarded  as  only 
the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  the  indwelling, 
eternal,  universal  spirit.  Form  for  its  own  sake 
did  not  occupy  his  attention;  as  far  as  possible,  he 
eliminated  from  it  all  its  grossness,  all  its  sugges- 
tion of  matter,  striving  to  extract  its  essence  and 
to  interpret  it  in  terms  of  spirit.  Like  the  old 
Byzantine  art,  Japanese  art  was  symbolical. 

Now,  the  growth  of  realism  in  Europe  cor- 
responded with  a loosening  of  religious  beliefs. 

[ 287] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


The  old  foundations  of  spirituality  were  being 
swept  away  by  materialism.  In  art,  both  the 
Academic  and  the  Realistic  schools  were  material- 
istic ; each  in  its  own  way  magnified  the  importance 
of  form,  and  matter,  as  such,  was  the  object  of  its 
worship.  But  here  and  there  appeared  an  artist 
to  whom  the  representation  of  the  material  was  of 
less  moment  than  the  expression  of  the  spiritual 
and  universal,  and  such  found  in  the  symbolism  of 
Japanese  art  an  inspiration  and  a clue.  One  of 
these  was  James  MacNeill  Whistler. 

He  was  born  at  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  in  1834. 
His  father.  Major  George  Whistler,  an  eminent  en- 
gineer, having  accepted  a commission  in  Russia  to 
lay  out  the  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  Railroad, 
continued  to  occupy  an  influential  position  under 
Emperor  Nicholas.  After  the  father’s  death  the 
mother  returned  to  America  to  educate  her  son, 
who  in  time  was  entered  at  West  Point.  His  stay 
there,  however,  was  short,  and  his  next  move  was  to 
Paris,  where  he  became  the  pupil  of  Gleyre,  in 
whose  studio  he  associated  with  Degas,  Bracque- 
mond,  Fantin-Latour,  and  Legros.  Yet  this 
period  of  Academic  instruction  was  but  an  incident 
in  his  career. 

His  art  was  a product  of  most  delicate  selection: 
a hybrid  derived  from  the  intermingling  of  many 
strains — Velasquez,  Rossetti,  the  Impressionists, 
and  Japanese — with  his  own  rarely  gifted  person- 

[ ^.88  ] 


WHISTLER 


ality,  itself  a curious  mingling  of  aristocratic 
hauteur  and  spiritual  sensibility. 

From  Velasquez  he  learned  the  value  of  the 
grand  line,  and  of  the  variously  defined  and  vanish- 
ing outlines;  the  placing  of  the  figure  in  cool,  real 
atmosphere,  and  the  dignity  and  refinement  of 
tones  of  black  and  grey;  from  Rossetti,  the  fasci- 
nation of  his  woman  with  “ the  star-like  sorrows  of 
immortal  eyes”;  from  the  Impressionists,  the  re- 
nunciation of  form,  as  such  by  means  of  lines,  and 
the  rendering  of  its  effect  by  chromatic  values  of 
colour,  harmonised  in  the  medium  of  natural  light, 
instead  of  the  golden  atmospheres  created  by  the 
older  masters.  And  by  the  Japanese  he  was  in- 
spired to  more  ravishing  harmonies  of  tone,  har- 
monies of  sumptuous  sobriety,  of  tender  or 
sparkling  sprightliness,  and  was  taught  the  secret 
of  their  composition,  the  fanastic  balancing  of  ir- 
regular forms  and  spaces,  with  continual  surprise 
of  detail,  and  the  arbitrary  choice  of  a point  of 
view,  such  as  looking  at  the  scene  from  below  or 
from  a point  higher  up  than  the  spot  from  which 
one  would  normally  expect  to  view  it.  Lastly,  the 
Japanese  helped  him  to  find  in  form  a symbol  of 
the  spiritual. 

These  various  strands  of  motive  he  wove  into  the 
warp  of  his  own  creation,  and  the  result  was  a 
fabric  which  had  the  faded  splendour  of  old 
Gobelin  tapestry. 


[S89] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


But,  after  all,  it  is  the  character  of  the  warp,  the 
personal  expression  of  himself,  that  is  the  element 
of  salient  interest  in  his  art.  He  was  par  excellence 
a ‘‘  painter  one,  that  is  to  say,  who  did  not  view 
nature  as  a collection  of  forms  to  be  delineated  by 
lines  and  filled  in  afterwards  with  colour,  but  as  an 
accord  of  coloured  masses.  By  means  of  these 
coloured  masses  he  rendered  the  effect  of  form. 
He  mocked  at  the  uncompromising  reproduction  of 
the  model,  as  he  did  at  the  idea  that  nature  is 
always  beautiful. 

“Nature  indeed,”  he  wrote,  “contains  the  ele- 
ments in  colour  and  form  of  all  pictures,  as  the 
keyboard  contains  the  notes  of  all  music.  But  the 
artist  is  born  to  pick  and  choose  and  group  with 
science  these  elements,  that  the  result  may  be  beau- 
tiful— as  the  musician  gathers  his  notes  and  forms 
chords,  until  he  brings  forth  from  chaos  glorious 
harmonies.”  Again  he  WTote:  “And  when  the 

evening  mist  clothes  the  riverside  with  poetry,  as 
with  a veil,  and  the  poor  buildings  lose  themselves 
in  the  dim  sky,  and  the  tall  chimneys  become  cam- 
panili,  and  the  warehouses  are  palaces  in  the  night, 
and  the  whole  city  hangs  in  the  heavens,  and  fairy- 
land is  before  us — then  the  wayfarer  hastens  home; 
the  workingman  and  the  cultured  one,  the  wise 
man  and  the  one  of  pleasure,  cease  to  understand, 
as  they  have  ceased  to  see;  and  Nature,  who  for 
once  has  sung  in  tune,  sings  her  exquisite  song  to 

[290] 


WHISTLER 


the  artist  alone,  her  son  and  her  master — her  son 
in  that  he  loves  her,  her  master  in  that  he  knows  her. 
To  him  her  secrets  are  unfolded ; to  him  her  lessons 
have  become  gradually  clear.  He  looks  at  her 
flower,  not  with  the  enlarging  lens,  that  he  may 
gather  facts  for  the  botanist,  but  with  the  light  of 
the  one  who  sees  in  her  choice  selection  of  brilliant 
tones  and  delicate  tints,  suggestion  of  future  har- 
monies.” 

In  this  last  sentence  he  betrays  the  ultima  ratio 
of  his  artistic  purpose,  which  was  to  extract  from 
Nature  her  abstract  appeal  to  the  sense  of  sight, 
even  as  the  chemist  distils  from  flowers  the  fra- 
grance that  will  appeal  to  the  sense  of  smell,  or  as 
a musician  from  the  throbbing  of  his  brain  brings 
forth  the  abstract  harmonies  of  sound.  In  the 
pride  of  his  art  he  claimed  for  it  an  independent 
value  that  needed  no  bolstering  up  with  words. 
He  would,  if  possible,  have  made  it  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  ideas.  For  a while  he  tried  the  experi- 
ment of  leaving  out  forms  and  relying  solely  on 
tones  of  colour,  calling  his  canvases  ‘‘nocturnes,” 
“symphonies,”  or  “harmonies,”  because  he  was 
trying  by  means  of  colour  to  emulate  the  musician’s 
use  of  sounds.  Of  course  the  public  did  not  under- 
stand these  efforts,  and  expended  much  thin  witti- 
cism over  the  experiment.  For  it  was  merely  an 
experiment;  re-establishing  the  truth,  very  gener- 
ally disregarded  in  those  days,  that  colour,  when 

[291] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


used  harmonically,  makes  an  independent,  abstract 
impression  on  the  imagination;  but  otherwise  un- 
availing, for  the  painter  cannot  get  away  perma- 
nently from  what  is  at  once  the  strength  and  the 
disability  of  his  art — the  necessity  of  represent- 
ing the  appearances  of  objects.  This  Whistler 
realised. 

He  did  not  ignore  form — ^very  far  from  it;  but 
it  was  the  effect  of  form,  in  its  relation  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  subject  and  in  its  relation  to  considera- 
tions of  abstract  beauty,  that  alone  seemed  to  him 
to  be  worth  interpretation.  In  a material  age  he 
made  his  artistic  protest  against  the  accepted  axiom 
that  “seeing  is  believing”;  teaching  and  proving 
in  his  works  that  it  is  not  what  the  average  man  sees 
that  counts  for  much  in  art,  but  what,  for  the 
most  part,  he  omits  to  see,  since  he  sees  only  with 
the  ocular  vision  and  is  prone  to  peer  through 
spectacles. 

So,  in  that  masterpiece,  The  Portrait  of  the  Ar~ 
tisfs  Mother,  he  did  not  picture  a lady  as  she  would 
appear  to  the  indifferent  gaze  of  strangers,  but  as 
she  was  known  to  the  heart  of  her  son  in  the  spirit- 
ual communion  of  their  mutual  love.  And  the  son 
being  a great  master,  the  picture  becomes  the 
noblest  tribute  to  motherhood  that  painting  can 
show,  and  to  everyone  who  has  known  the  blessing 
of  a good  mother  the  most  wonderful  interpretation 
of  his  own  devotion,  if  he  have  eyes  to  see  it. 

[292] 


RTRAIT  OF  THE  ARTIST’S  MOTHER 


James  A.  McNeill  Whistler 


)RIGINALLY  exhibited  under  the  title  ‘^An  Arrangement  in  Black  and  Gray;”  for  the 
composition,  to  use  Whistler’ s own  phrase,  is  essentially  ‘‘an  accord  of  colored  masses.” 
The  black  and  gray  are  relieved  by  tne  delicate  flesh  tints,  the  white  of  the  cap  and 
dkerchief,  and  the  dull  green  of  the  curtain.  The  suggestion  of  the  color-arrangement  mingles 
yity  with  tenderness,  reticence  with  austerity,  solemnity  with  graciousness. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Luxembourg,  Paris 


-r^  Tames  \ McNeill  \Vhistler 

PORTRAIT  OF  CARL\LE 

A V nrmnm  meni  hi  and  flra,).  The  abrupt  angulariths  in  the  poee  of  the 

zl  ehameiristic  oOhe  impetuoue  and  uncompromising  nature  of  the  great  preacher-lnstonan. 
^ rntfir  hoi  Z out  of  him  and  the  ^ mane  of  gray  lochs  shores  ireani 

against  ^ irall.  A ionderfu,  example  of  impressionism,  lifted  to  the  high  plane  of 

spiritual  e.cpr,ssion.  CoUection  of  the  Corporation  Art  Galleries,  Glasgow 


WHISTLER 


In  The  Portrait  of  Carlyle  the  figure  is  entirely 
in  black,  the  pallid  face  and  grey  hair  silhouetted 
against  a grey  wall,  the  whole  enveloped  in  a dull, 
dreary  atmosphere.  It  is,  indeed,  a colour  arrange- 
ment of  slightly  different  tones  of  black  and  grey, 
forming  a sombre  harmony  that  Richard  Miither, 
the  German  critic-historian,  has  likened  to  a fu- 
neral march.  The  prevailing  expression  is  one  of 
weariness  of  soul  and  mind.  The  volcanic  fire  that 
used  to  glow  white-hot  in  this  bitter  opponent  of 
all  world-shams  has  burned  itself  to  blackness  and 
grey  ash.  Whether  or  not  this  truly  represented, 
at  the  time  the  portrait  was  painted,  the  personality 
of  Carlyle,  work-worn  though  he  was  and  a chronic 
sufferer  from  dyspepsia,  may  be  doubted.  The 
making  of  a likeness  was  seldom  in  Whistler’s 
thoughts;  it  was  the  impression  that  the  subject 
made  upon  his  imagination  that  he  strove  to  ren- 
der; and  in  this  case  it  is  a pathetic  one,  consistent 
with  itself,  and  most  poetically  wrought.  It  re- 
veals, moreover,  that  aloofness  so  characteristic  of 
this  master’s  work.  The  figure  dwells  apart  in  an 
atmosphere  of  its  own,  far  from  the  glare  and  din 
of  the  world,  wrapt  in  the  calm  that  follows  after 
passion.  In  the  Sarasate^  however,  another  study 
in  black  and  greys  only  relieved  by  the  whiteness 
of  the  shirt,  the  figure  is  represented  as  emerging 
from  darkness,  but  only  into  a half  light.  The 
magic  of  his  genius  is  still  suspended,  only  a sug- 

[295] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


gestioii  of  it  being  hinted  at  in  the  nervous  delicacy 
of  the  hands. 

The  value  of  elusiveness  in  a work  of  art  was 
one  of  the  great  truths  that  Whistler’s  example 
teaches.  It  is  this  quality  which  gives  it  pungency 
of  suggestion  and  enduring  interest;  just  as  a 
woman,  to  hold  the  heart  of  a man,  must  preserve 
some  savour  of  inaccessible  mystery.  Of  what  is 
obviously  and  fully  realised,  if  it  yield  no  further 
suggestion,  human  nature  soon  tires. 

The  Nocturne-Bognor  is  penetrated  with  this 
quality  of  elusiveness;  phantom  shapes  glimmering 
in  misty,  ethereal  light,  a spirit  picture,  rendering 
the  impressions  which  such  a scene  in  nature  gently 
makes  upon  the  imagination.  So  gently,  that, 
while  we  are  filled  with  sensations,  they  are  vague, 
unrealisable ; our  spirit  is  allured  to  infinite  long- 
ings in  the  very  unattainableness  of  which  there  is 
a poignancy  of  cleansing  sadness.  If  you  have 
come  under  the  spell  of  this  enchantment  in  the 
actual  presence  of  Nature,  you  recognise  it  in- 
stantly in  this  picture ; if  you  have  not,  the  picture 
may  lead  you  to  find  it. 

What  the  artist  has  given  us  is  not  the  facts  of 
nature,  but  their  effect  upon  the  spirit;  interpret- 
ing the  dream  or  spirit  world,  of  which  the  actual 
is  the  solid  basis.  ‘‘  The  landscapes  of  Whistler 
are  places  of  dreamland,”  says  Miither;  “land- 
scapes of  the  mind,  summoned  with  closed  eyes  and 

[ 296  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAX  PAINTING 


The  old  foundations  of  spirituality  were  being 
swept  away  by  materialism.  In  art,  both  the 
Academic  and  the  Realistic  schools  were  material- 
istic; each  in  its  own  way  magnified  the  importance 
of  form,  and  matter,  as  such,  was  the  object  of  its 
worsliip.  Rut  here  and  tliere  appeared  an  artist 
to  whom  the  representation  of  the  material  was  of 
less  moment  than  the  expression  of  the  spiritual 
and  universal,  and  such  found  in  the  symbolism  of 
Japanese  art  an  inspiration  and  a clue.  One  of 
these  was  .lames  MacNeill  Whistler. 

He  was  born  at  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  in  1834. 
iris  father,  Major  (George  Whistler,  an  eminent  en- 
gineer, having  accepted  a commission  in  Russia  to 
lay  out  the  St.  Petersburg  and  ^Moscow  Railroad, 
continued  to  occupy  an  influential  position  under 
Emperor  Nicholas.  After  the  father’s  death  the 
mother  returned  to  America  to  educate  her  son, 
who  in  time  was  entered  at  West  Point.  His  stay 
there,  however,  was  short,  and  liis  next  move  was  to 
Paris,  where  he  became  the  ])upil  of  (Reyre,  in 
whose  studio  he  associated  with  Degas,  Rracque- 
mond,  Fantin-Ijatour,  and  I.egros.  Yet  this 
period  of  .Vcademic  instruction  was  but  an  incident 
in  his  career. 

His  art  was  a product  of  most  delicate  selection: 
a hybrid  derived  from  the  intermingling  of  many 
strains — Yelasquez,  Rossetti,  the  Impressionists, 
and  Japanese — with  his  own  rarely  gifted  person- 

[ 9,88  ] 


WHISTLER 


ality,  itself  a curious  mingling  of  aristocratic 
hauteur  and  spiritual  sensibility. 

From  Velasquez  he  learned  the  value  of  the 
grand  line,  and  of  the  variously  defined  and  vanish- 
ing outlines;  the  placing  of  the  figure  in  cool,  real 
atmosphere,  and  the  dignity  and  refinement  of 
tones  of  black  and  grey;  from  Rossetti,  the  fasci- 
nation of  his  woman  with  ‘‘  the  star-like  sorrows  of 
immortal  eyes”;  from  the  Impressionists,  the  re- 
nunciation of  form,  as  such  by  means  of  lines,  and 
the  rendering  of  its  effect  by  chromatic  values  of 
colour,  harmonised  in  the  medium  of  natural  light, 
instead  of  the  golden  atmospheres  created  by  the 
older  masters.  And  by  the  Japanese  he  was  in- 
spfied  to  more  ravishing  harmonies  of  tone,  har- 
monies of  sumptuous  sobriety,  of  tender  or 
sparkling  sprightliness,  and  was  taught  the  secret 
of  their  composition,  the  fanastic  balancing  of  ir- 
regTilar  forms  and  spaces,  with  continual  surprise 
of  detail,  and  the  arbitrary  choice  of  a point  of 
^dew,  such  as  looking  at  the  scene  from  below  or 
from  a point  higher  up  than  the  spot  from  which 
one  would  normally  expect  to  ^dew  it.  Lastly,  the 
Japanese  helped  liim  to  find  in  form  a sjunbol  of 
the  spiritual. 

These  various  strands  of  motive  he  wove  into  the 
warp  of  his  own  creation,  and  the  result  was  a 
fabric  which  had  the  faded  splendour  of  old 
Gobehn  tapestry. 


[S89] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


ternals;  has  looked  beyond  what  she  was  to  what 
she  might  have  l)een,  to  what  indeed  she  may,  in  a 
measure,  still  have  been,  and  spied  a flicker  of  pure 
flame  within  her  tarnished  soul.  There  is  a pitiful 
tenderness  in  the  rendering  of  the  girl’s  face,  as  it 
peers  at  us  from  its  frame  of  elf-locks,  out  of  the 
mystery  of  the  dim,  dark  background.  It  is  treated 
also  with  a touch  of  irony,  with  that  mingling  of 
pity  and  mockery  with  which  the  gods,  themselves 
not  free  from  Fate,  are  fabled  to  have  w^atched  the 
lives  of  fate-distraught  mortals;  and  withal  it  is 
full  of  mystery,  pregnant  with  the  cry  of  why  such 
things  must  be  and  the  wonder  as  to  whither  they 
tend. 

Nor  in  Whistler’s  paintings,  despite  the  mystery 
and  spirituality,  and  notwithstanding  the  elusive- 
ness of  the  brushw^ork,  is  there  any  lack  of  virility. 
Dignity  of  line  and  mass  and  tone  proclaims  the 
master;  and  the  actual  laying-on  of  the  pigment 
something  greater  than  the  skilful  audacity  of  a 
magician  of  the  brush.  We  do  not  see  the  stroke 
of  hand  which  dazzles  and  bewilders.  It  is  rather 
as  if  the  presence  on  the  canvas  had  been  invoked 
by  a supreme  effort  of  will,  so  that,  by  the  side  of 
one  of  his  portraits,  the  w^ork  of  the  brilliant  brush- 
technist  is  apt  to  seem  commonplace.  Perhaps  one 
reason  is  that  such  legerdemain  is  for  the  most  part 
associated  with  a keen  fondness  for  the  actual,  the 
artist  being  enamoured  of  externals,  the  coquet- 

[300] 


WHISTLER 


ries  of  costume,  the  intrinsic  desirableness  of  fine 
fabrics.  So  that  it  may  be  due  to  inferiority  of 
motive,  rather  than  to  the  difference  of  technique, 
that  he  seems  to  suffer  by  comparison. 

Not  that  Whistler  ignored  the  fascination  of 
textures  and  fabrics.  No  artist  could.  But  it  was 
not  their  mere  appearance  of  valuableness  per  yard 
with  which  he  concerned  himself,  but  their  senti- 
ment of  aesthetic  suggestion.  I recall,  for  example, 
the  curtains  in  The  Music  Room,  creamy  white, 
with  sprigs  of  flowers.  What  a sense  of  freshness 
and  purity  they  give  to  the  room!  And  the  cos- 
tume in  which  he  represents  some  grande  dame  will 
offer  little  comfort  to  a milliner,  nor  much  to  the 
lady,  if  it  were  her  gown  on  which  she  depended 
to  be  attractive.  Whistler,  indeed,  made  the  dig- 
nity of  the  woman  superior  to  and  independent 
of  the  costume. 

Besides  enforcing  the  need  of  selection  in  art 
and  that  the  spiritual  and  aesthetic  significance  of 
things  is  more  worthy  of  the  artist’s  study  than  the 
mere  appearances,  Whistler  waged  war  against  the 
preference  of  the  Phihstine  for  what  he  calls  a 
“ finished  picture.”  He  had  a fine  scorn  for  the 
tailor-kind  of  mind  which  yearns  to  see  each  but- 
ton, tag,  and  furbelow  reproduced  precisely,  as 
well  as  for  that  furnishing  and  upholstering  pro- 
pensity which  desires  a picture  to  be  as  crowded 
with  details  as  the  average  parlour,  and  every  de- 

[301  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


tail  highly  polished.  With  him  a picture  was  fin- 
ished when  he  had  succeeded,  as  far  as  might 
be,  in  reproducing  the  impression  that  he  had  in 
mind,  and  in  disguising  the  means  by  which  he  had 
created  it. 

It  was  in  his  etchings  that  he  reached  the  maxi- 
mum of  expression  by  the  smallest  expenditure  of 
means ; f or  the  medium  admits  a greater  possibility 
of  omission  and  suggestion.  In  the  hands  of  a 
master,  that  is  to  say,  for  the  ordinary  etcher  will 
load  his  plate  with  lines.  But  the  mental  superior- 
ity of  Whistler,  as  an  artist,  was  in  no  way  more 
demonstrated  than  in  his  power  of  forming  a con- 
ception of  the  scene  and  then  in  a few  flexible, 
pregnant  lines,  executed  with  apparent  ease,  giving 
its  character  and  expressiveness. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  he  created  no  school. 
It  was  neither  possible  nor  necessary.  The  finest 
quality  of  his  art  was  personal  to  himself,  an  ema- 
nation of  genius,  not  transferable;  the  principles 
that  he  adopted  were  diversely  used  by  others;  his 
tenets  too  simple  and  universal  to  found  or  need  a 
school  for  their  propagation.  He  did  better  than 
attract  a f e w f ollowers  and  imitators ; he  influenced 
the  whole  world  of  art.  Consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously, his  presence  is  felt  in  countless  studios; 
his  genius  permeates  modern  artistic  thought. 

It  may  be  equally  an  inspiration  to  ourselves. 
We  are  overmuch  drilled  from  childhood  to  catch 

[302] 


WHISTLER 


at  the  form  and  miss  the  substance;  to  substitute 
words  and  phraseologies  for  thinking  and  ideas; 
to  estimate  life  by  material  standards  and  to 
sharpen  our  wits  at  the  expense  of  what  is  spirit- 
ual; to  have  little  reverence  or  habit  of  quiet 
thoughtfulness,  and  too  soon  to  lose  the  fragrance 
of  our  natures  in  the  withering  heat  of  worldliness. 
With  Whistler,  we  may  do  well  to  enter  at  times 
into  the  tranquil  half-light  of  the  soul,  and  ponder 
upon  the  things  of  the  Spirit. 


[303] 


CHAPTER  XIV 


SOME  NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 

IN  1817  Congress  gave  Trumbull  a commission 
for  four  paintings  to  adorn  the  Capitol.  The 
intention  of  Congress  in  appropriating  $32,000 
for  this  work  was  to  commemorate  certain  impor- 
tant events  in  the  history  of  the  new  Republic,  and 
the  artist  conceived  and  treated  his  subjects  in  the 
manner  of  historical  pictures.  It  was  fidelity  to 
the  incident  rather  than  any  ideas  of  making  his 
paintings  decorative,  that  influenced  him.  Though 
intended  for  wall  spaces,  they  were  not  in  the  true 
sense  mural  paintings.  Why  they  were  not,  may 
perhaps  be  understood  by  a comparison  of  the  first 
commission  in  this  country,  given  and  accepted  as 
advisedly  a work  of  mural  decoration.  The  date 
was  1876;  the  building.  Trinity  Church,  Boston, 
and  the  immediate  principals  in  the  transaction 
were  H.  H.  Richardson,  the  architect,  and  the 
painter,  John  La  Large. 

Two  points  are  of  importance:  first,  that  it  was 
the  architect  then,  engaged  in  building  the  church, 
who  realised  that  its  interior  effect  would  be  im- 
proved by  a scheme  of  painted  decoration;  sec- 
ondly, that  although  the  scheme  might  involve  the 

[304] 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


representation  of  certain  persons  or  incidents  of 
the  Bible,  its  primary  and  final  purpose  was  to  be 
complementary  to  the  architecture.  To  these  points 
another  may  be  added,  not  perhaps  essential,  but 
certainly  conducive  to  a successful  result,  that  the 
whole  scheme  of  interior  colouring,  its  smallest  de- 
tails as  well  as  the  important  figure  compositions, 
was  entrusted  to  one  man. 

Here  we  get  an  inkling  of  what  mural  painting 
really  is.  It  is  not  the  affixing  of  a picture  to  the 
walls,  as  we  hang  a picture  on  the  wall  of  a living- 
room  to  embellish  it,  or  for  the  separate  interest 
and  value  of  the  picture.  It  becomes  an  integral 
part  of  an  architectural  unit.  Trinity  Church,  for 
example,  is  in  design  an  adaptation  of  the  Roman- 
esque style  which  in  addition  to  vaulted  roofs  has 
an  excess  of  wall  over  window  space.  These  sur- 
faces in  the  mediaeval  churches  were  frequently 
overlaid  with  marble  veneer  and  mosaic.  Richard- 
son determined  to  substitute  a painted  decoration, 
that  should  at  once  relieve  the  barrenness  of  the 
interior  and  unite  all  its  parts  into  an  ensemble  of 
rich  harmoniousness.  It  is  indeed  as  a whole  that 
the  interior  affects  us.  Within,  as  outside,  the  cul- 
mination of  the  design  is  the  centre  tower,  crowned 
with  a low  spire.  To  it  converge  the  short  nave  and 
side  aisles,  the  transepts  and  apse-ended  chancel. 
The  plan,  in  fact,  is  more  apparent  inside  than 
without,  and  while  the  stained-glass  windows  make 

[305] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


intervals  of  brilliant  splendour,  the  general  effect 
is  one  of  subdued  dignity  of  tone,  out  of  the  mys- 
teiy  of  which,  if  you  are  minded  to  look  for  them, 
the  details  of  the  decoration  may  be  discerned. 

But  as  I have  said,  the  first  and  chief  impression 
is  of  an  organic  unity  of  colour  growing  out  of  the 
architecture,  the  very  dimness  of  the  effect  seem- 
ing characteristic  of  this  particular  architectural 
style,  which  in  its  origin  belonged  to  the  South  and 
was  designed  to  exclude  rather  than  to  admit  the  • 

light.  I 

Moreover,  the  Romanesque  style  of  Southern  | 

France,  which  was  the  particular  brand  of  the  Ro- 
manesque that  Richardson  had  adopted,  had  been 
itself  an  adaptation  by  comparatively  unskilled 
Western  builders  of  various  influences,  only  partly 
digested — the  Byzantine,  the  Roman,  and  the 
Greek.  There  Avas  a peculiar  fitness,  that  probably 
presented  itself  to  Richardson’s  mind  and  was  cer- 
tainly present  in  La  F arge’s,  in  choosing  this  char-  ; 

acter  of  construction  for  the  first  attempt  in  the  I 

New  Western  World  to  combine  the  labours  of  , 

the  architect  and  decorator  in  some  scheme  that 
might  emulate  the  traditions  of  the  past.  In  La 
Farge’s  oaaii  words:  “It  Avould  permit,  as  long 

ago  it  has  permitted,  a wide  range  of  skill  in  artistic 
training;  the  rough  bungling  of  the  native  and 
the  ill-digested  culture  of  the  foreigner.  I could 
think  myself  back  to  a time  when  I might  have 

[ 306  ] I , 


.ill 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


employed  some  cheap  Byzantine  of  set  habits,  some 
ill-equipped  Barbarian,  some  Roman,  dwelling 
near  by  for  a time — perhaps  even  some  artist,  keep- 
ing alive  both  the  tradition  and  culture  of  Greece.” 
And  it  was  under  similar  conditions  of  limited  ex- 
perience on  the  part  of  the  artist,  of  habits  corn- 
firmed  in  a wrong  direction  on  the  part  of  available 
workmen,  of  low  trade  ideals  and  indifferent  mate- 
rials, that  the  beginnings  of  a new  movement  in 
America  were  inaugurated.  For,  although  La 
Farge  had  been  giving  some  attention  to  decora- 
tive problems,  especially  to  those  of  colour,  his 
opportunities  of  practical  experience  had  been 
small  indeed  as  compared  with  the  magnitude  of 
this  one.  He  was  at  a moment’s  notice  launched 
into  what  was,  under  the  circumstances,  a huge 
experiment;  the  subordinates  on  whom  he  had  to 
rely  were  inexperienced,  and,  as  a climax  to  these 
limitations,  he  was  compelled  to  work  amid  the 
discomfort  and  confusion  of  a windowless,  un- 
finished building,  under  the  severe  strain  of  having 
to  conceive,  elaborate,  and  conclude  this  big  scheme 
in  a short  space  of  time. 

This  tendency  to  “ rush  ” the  artist,  which  is  not 
infrequently  characteristic  of  decorative  commis- 
sions in  our  country,  was  illustrated  again  two 
years  later  in  the  case  of  W.  M.  Hunt.  He  was 
requested  to  paint  two  decorations  of  considerable 
size  for  the  Capitol  at  Albany,  the  time  allotted 

[307] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


him  for  their  inception  and  completion  being  thir- 
teen weeks ! He  produced  the  Flight  of  Night  and 
The  Discoverer^  but  at  what  cost ! The  mental  and 
physical  strain  proved  too  much  for  him;  the  work 
completed,  he  noticeably  declined,  and  died  the  fol- 
lowing year.  The  work,  too,  has  perished,  for  the 
plaster  had  not  been  allowed  to  dry  out ; it  was  still 
“ green,”  and  the  paintings  have  since  decayed  and 
crumbled  away. 

La  Farge,  having  completed  the  work  in  Trin- 
ity Church,  was  almost  immediately  commissioned 
to  decorate  the  apse  of  St.  Thomas’  in  New  York. 
Here  he  worked  in  collaboration  not  only  with  the 
architect,  but  with  the  sculptor,  thus  for  the  first 
time  in  this  country  asserting  practically  the  inter- 
dependence and  kinship  of  these  three  arts  of 
construction  and  decoration.  The  reredos  was 
modelled  by  Saint  Gaudens,  and  on  each  side  of  it 
the  painter  installed  a scene  from  the  Resurrection, 
enshrining  all  three  in  a scheme  of  colour  and  of 
moulded  and  carved  Avork,  designed  and  partly  exe- 
cuted by  himself,  though  the  design  in  its  entirety 
was  never  completed.  Nevertheless,  as  it  stood,  it 
was  the  most  completely  noble  of  La  Farge’s 
schemes  of  decoration,  and  its  destruction  in  1904 
by  fire  was  a national  calamity.  For  there  is  lost 
to  us,  not  only  a great  artistic  achievement,  but  one 
that  in  the  course  of  years  would  have  had  increas- 
ing historic  interest  as  a landmark  in  the  progress 

[ 308  ] 


rHE  ASCENSION  John  La  Faroe 

A Mural  Painting  in  the  Church  of  the  Ascension,  New  York 

CONSIDERED  hy  many  the  noblest  example  of  mural  decoration  in  the  country.  The 
student  of  painting  will  note  with  interest  how  the  composition  is  founded^  with  con- 
siderable variation^  on  that  of  Raphael's  Disputa. 


s- 

a 

s a 
2 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


of  American  art.  It  might  also  eventually  have 
had  an  influence  in  checking  what  I venture  to 
call  the  “ department  store  tendencies  ” that  char- 
acterise so  largely  the  present  manifestations  of 
our  decorative  movement. 

For,  as  we  pursue  the  study  of  the  latter,  we 
shall  find  that  instead  of  the  mind  of  a master- 
decorator,  such  as  La  Farge  is  by  instinct  and 
training,  being  not  only  permitted  but  encouraged 
to  control  the  whole  scheme  of  internal  embellish- 
ment, circumstances  bring  it  about  that  the  archi- 
tects, whose  talent  and  metier  are  primarily  of  the 
constructive  order,  have  become  also  the  decorative 
designers  of  the  interiors,  deputing  the  execution 
of  their  schemes  to  a variety  of  subordinates.  It  is 
a highly  organised  system,  capable  of  turning  out 
an  immense  quantity  of  work,  creditable  in  quality, 
but  of  little  personal  distinction.  Yet,  if  we  study 
the  matter,  we  shall  find  that  the  system  has  grown 
inevitably  out  of  existing  conditions. 

Little  more  than  a quarter  of  a century  ago  the 
ground  in  our  development  now  occupied  by  archi- 
tecture and  decoration  was  a prairie  wilderness, 
spotted  here  and  there  with  beautiful  survivals  of 
a past  taste,  such  as  the  examples  of  Colonial  man- 
sions and  churches,  and  of  later  public  edifices,  like 
the  White  House  and  the  Capitol.  For  the  rest 
it  was  a waste  upon  which  modern  disfigurements 
had  encroached.  Then  two  men  appeared  as  pio- 

[Sll] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


neers : H.  H.  Richardson,*  already  mentioned,  and 
Richard  Morris  Hunt;  both  architects  who,  like 
some  of  our  painters,  had  studied  in  Paris  at  the 
famous  ilcole  des  Beaux  Arts, 

The  movement  they  inaugurated  was,  from  its 
inception,  one  of  architecture.  Hunt  representing 
the  constructive,  logical  phase  of  the  art,  Richard- 
son its  more  notably  aesthetic  possibilities.  The 
latter,  as  we  have  seen,  hastened  to  secure  the  co- 
operation of  La  Farge.  But  decorators  such  as 
he  are  not  to  be  found  by  the  wayside.  There  was 
no  other  painter  in  the  country  to  whom  an  archi- 
tect could  safely  have  entrusted  an  important 
scheme  of  decoration  in  its  entirety.  Moreover,  La 
Farge  has  always  been  too  much  of  an  investigator 
and  experimenter  to  adapt  himself  to  the  “ driving 
hurry  ” of  American  methods,  and,  furthermore,  he 
very  soon  turned  aside  into  a special  department  of 
decoration,  that  of  decorated  windows.  How  in 
this  direction  he  proved  himself  to  be  an  original 
genius,  substituting  for  the  usual  stained  glass  the 
use  of  opalescent  glass,  thereby  inventing  a new 
kind  of  window,  distinguished  by  extreme  richness 
and  subtlety  of  colour,  has  already  occupied  our 

* Is  it  not  rather  characteristic  of  American  attitude  toward 
artistic  genius  that  the  “ Universal  Cyclopaedia,”  published  in 
New  York,  1901,  a newly  revised  and  enlarged  edition,  omits 
the  name  of  this  architect? 

[ 312] 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


notice  in  a previous  chapter.  It  interfered  with 
his  continuing  the  role  in  which  he  had  already  qual- 
ified, as  a painter  who  could  undertake  and  carry 
through  an  ensemble  of  mural  decoration.  There 
was  still  another  reason.  When  he  was  in  the  prime 
of  his  vigour,  the  period  of  opportunity  in  the 
shape  of  great  public  buildings  had  scarcely  begun, 
and,  by  the  time  that  it  was  fairly  afoot,  the  archi- 
tects were  from  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  not 
only  the  initiators,  but  the  controllers  of  the 
movement. 

The  event  from  which  this  movement  has  gone 
on  advancing  with  steadily  increasing  bulk  and  mo- 
mentum was  the  World’s  Fair  at  Chicago.  Pre- 
viously to  this  there  had  been  divers  instances  of 
mural  decoration  in  the  private  houses  of  the  rich, 
and  at  least  one  public  building,  the  new  Hotel 
Ponce  de  Leon  at  St.  Augustine,  had  been  elabo- 
rately decorated,  while  the  Trustees  of  the  Boston 
Public  Library  had  already  given  commissions  for 
mural  paintings  to  the  French  artist,  Puvis  de 
Chavannes,  and  to  Sargent  and  Abbey.  But  the 
effect  of  this  and  other  sporadic  efforts  was 
multiplied  ad  infinitum  by  the  consolidated  gran- 
deur of  the  “White  City.”  It  was  an  object 
lesson,  the  virtue  of  which,  though  it  has  been 
frequently  described,  may  well  be  continually 
enforced. 

It  taught,  in  the  first  place,  the  desirableness,  even 
[313] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


the  commercial  value,  of  beauty.  The  shrewd, 
large-minded  citizens  of  a city  that  is  essentially 
the  product  and  assertion  of  commerce  discovered 
that  they  could  give  expression  to  their  own  local 
pride  and  attract  business  from  outside,  not  only 
by  following  the  old  crude  idea  of  attempting  “ the 
biggest  show  on  earth,”  but  by  trying  to  make  it 
the  most  beautiful.  They  succeeded;  for,  while 
millions  of  tired  bodies  testified  to  the  former 
motive,  as  many  hearts  were  gladdened  and  as 
many  imaginations  stimulated  by  the  presentation 
of  the  latter. 

In  the  second  place,  it  exhibited  the  mutual  inter- 
dependence of  the  arts  of  construction  and  design; 
the  value  of  combination.  Buildings  which  might 
have  been  constructed  solely  with  a view  to  sepa- 
rate utility  were  treated  also  as  monuments  of 
architectural  design,  enriched  by  sculpture  and 
painting,  borrowing  extra  dignity  from  one  an- 
other, and  placed  in  a worthy  setting  by  the  co- 
operation of  the  landscape  designer.  In  a word, 
the  natural  beauties  of  the  spot  had  been  utilised 
and  increased;  formal  features,  such  as  terraces, 
fountains,  and  bridges,  had  been  added,  and  the  cul- 
minating motive  had  been  the  creation  of  a series 
of  magnificent  or  alluring  ensembles.  The  result 
was  a triumph,  alike  for  the  architects  and  land- 
scape designers,  for  the  various  painters  and  sculp- 
tors who  co-operated  in  the  details  of  the  plan,  and 

[3U] 


i 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


for  the  citizens  of  Chicago  who  permitted  its  in- 
ception and  provided  for  its  completion. 

Scarcely  more  than  a decade  has  elapsed  since 
the  passing  of  that  temporarily  realised  dream  of 
artistic  beauty,  yet  already  in  thousands  of  in- 
stances throughout  the  country  its  influence  has 
borne  fruit.  It  is  true  that  its  biggest  lesson  has 
scarcely  yet  been  recognised.  Municipalities  either 
are  not  yet  aroused  to  the  value  of  a combination 
of  efforts  into  an  ensemble,  or  have  not  had  the 
courage  or  opportunity  to  realise  it.  There  have 
been  certain  notable  exceptions,  as  in  the  laying 
out  of  the  water  fronts  in  Chicago,  Philadelphia, 
and  New  York,  and  in  attention  given  to  the  regu- 
lation of  the  sky-line  of  buildings,  as  in  Boston. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  these  indications  of  a civic 
sense  of  pride  and  responsibility,  little  or  nothing 
has  been  done  toward  an  organic  alleviation  of  the 
dire  monotony  of  our  gridiron  street-plans,  or 
toward  a systematic  treatment  of  such  open  spaces 
as  they  niggardly  present.  In  failing  to  realise  the 
value  of  ensembles,  whether  regarded  as  conven- 
iences or  embellishments,  we  are  still  far  behind  the 
modern  activities  of  the  Old  World  cities.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  respect  of  the  separate  building,  as- 
serting itself  as  an  independent  unit,  the  activities 
in  this  country  during  the  past  ten  years  have  been 
phenomenal. 

It  would  be  very  interesting,  if  space  permitted, 
[315] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


to  sketch  the  story  of  what  our  architects  have 
accomplished;  how  in  Federal  and  State  buildings, 
in  City  Halls  and  libraries,  in  churches,  hotels^ 
office  and  trade  buildings,  and  in  city  and  country 
residences,  the  motives  of  utility  and  beauty  have 
jointly  inspired  the  design;  how  the  skill  of  the 
architects,  trained  in  the  knowledge  of  the  Old 
World,  has  displayed  itself  both  in  adapting  the 
various  styles  and  principles  to  the  American  re- 
quirement, and  in  inventing  new  methods  of  con- 
struction to  comply  with  the  special  conditions  that 
exist  here.  If  adequately  told,  the  story  would  have 
the  interest  and  surprise  of  a romance.  But  for  our 
present  purpose  we  can  only  note  that  the  trend  of 
the  movement  has  been  toward  a superior  logic  and 
dignity  in  the  character  of  the  whole  building,  and 
toward  a more  sumptuous  and,  at  the  same  time, 
more  tactful  use  of  embellishments  in  the  details; 
and  that  in  these  latter  the  architects  have  more  and 
more  enlisted  the  co-operation  of  the  painters. 

During  the  past  ten  years  the  practice  of  mural 
painting  in  America  has  spread  rapidly.  At  first 
it  found  the  majority  of  the  painters  unprepared 
for  the  particular  requirements  of  this  kind  of 
painting.  They  had  been  trained  in  the  principles 
of  the  easel-picture,  within  the  frame  of  which  the 
painter  may  adopt  any  method  of  treatment  that 
he  chooses,  intent  solely  upon  making  his  picture; 
and  one,  not  necessarily  decorative.  But  mural 

[316] 


ropy  Ho ’if.  190T.  rnj  Curtv-  BeU 

PITTSBURGH  PERSONIFIED  John  . Alexaxdek 

Part  of  the  Mural  Decoration  in  the  Carnegie  Institute 


T 


th 


HIS  panel  Is  a part  of  an  elaborate  scheme  of  decoration.  The  spirit  of  the  Cttif  | ; 

of  Steel  Foundries  is  represented  as  a icarrior  in  mediwcal  armor,  hut  the  figure  | 
which  crowns  him.  thosf  which  announce  his  triumph,  and  the  others,  flying  m from  / : 

four  corm  rs  of  tin  earth  with  rich  gifts,  are  lovely  types  of  modern  girlhood.  f \ J 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


painting  does  not  fulfil  the  purposes  of  its  exist- 
ence unless  it  be  decorative  and  at  the  same  time 
subsidiary  to  the  general  scheme  of  its  surround- 
ings, in  which  it  should  occupy  the  position  not  of 
a separate  unit  but  of  an  integral  factor.  The 
character  of  its  subject  will  partake  of  that  of  the 
building:  solemn,  serious,  elegant,  or  sportive,  ac- 
cording to  the  spirit  in  which  the  architecture,  fol- 
lowing the  purpose  of  the  building,  has  been 
planned.  The  character  of  its  composition  will  be 
determined  by  the  shape  and  position  of  the  space 
that  it  is  intended  to  adorn ; the  choice  of  its  colour 
regulated  to  the  prevailing  colour  scheme  of  the 
interior.  In  a word,  the  mural  painting,  besides 
being  decorative,  should  be  functional. 

The  meaning  of  this  may  be  readily  grasped  if 
one  remembers  that  the  various  parts  of  the  archi- 
tectural structure  are  not  used  arbitrarily,  but  that 
each  has  its  separate  function  to  perform  in  the 
complex  arrangement  of  supports  and  resistances 
that  make  up  the  whole  system.  For  example,  in 
the  Rotunda  of  the  Library  of  Congress  the  eight 
ribs  of  the  dome  sweep  upward  until  they  termi- 
nate in  the  broad,  smooth  surface  of  the  “ collar,” 
whose  function  is  to  clamp  them  all  together  and 
at  the  same  time  to  form  a support  for  the  super- 
incumbent cupola.  Recognising  this,  the  decorator 
of  the  ‘‘  collar,”  Edwin  H.  Blashfield,  devised  a 
composition  which  should  form  a compact  and 

[319] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


continuous  circle  of  decoration  and  simultaneously, 
by  the  introduction  of  eight  principal  figures,  recall 
the  eight  ribs  which  the  circle  terminates.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  the  Delivery  Room  of  the  Boston 
Public  Library,  Edwin  A.  Abbey,  commissioned 
to  decorate  the  frieze  and  choosing  for  the  subject 
the  Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  has  ignored  the  func- 
tion of  a frieze,  which  is  to  counteract  the  vari- 
ous interruptions  down  below,  of  windows,  doors, 
and  fireplaces,  by  an  effect  above  of  continuity. 
Whereas  he  might  have  treated  the  space  as  a con- 
tinuous whole,  by  dividing  it  into  a series  of  panels 
that  should  succeed  one  another  in  a rhythmic 
sequence,  he  has  chopped  it  up  into  a variety  of 
different  measurements. 

The  more  strictly  functional  treatment  of  a 
frieze  may  be  studied  in  the  same  building,  in  the 
fine  example  of  John  S.  Sargent’s  Prophets,  In 
them  there  is  a collective  effect  of  continuity,  a 
rhythmic  sequence  of  handsome  masses  and  striking 
lines.  INIoreover,  the  choice  of  the  subject  is  read- 
ily comprehensible,  which  is  a considerable  virtue, 
since  it  offers  no  interference  with  one’s  immediate 
appreciation  of  the  painting  as  a decoration.  The 
panels  above  them,  however,  in  the  lunette  and  sof- 
fit of  the  arch,  are  not  so  simple.  The  pattern  of 
their  composition  presents  an  exuberance  of  inter- 
'woven  forms.  It  may  be  quite  appropriate  to  the 
idea  of  turmoil  involved  in  the  subject  of  Pohdhe- 

[320] 


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Copi/rujht.  tnn::,  1,„  thr  Trti.  tr.  s of  Ih,-  Hostou  PuhUr  T.ihi 

'mi*:  DociMA  oi-'  iM-:i)ivM P'l'iox 


rij.  J'ritiii  (I  ( '(i/ilt'i/  Print,  Coj’i/riiihl , lOn:, 


hi/  C'lirtis  ami  Cameron 
.Ion  X S.  S A KGK XT 


A .Mural  Docoration  in  tlie  lloston  Pul)lic  Lil)rarv 


J REMARK.lBhi:  t.i’antph  (>t  Diodtni  rclipioii.'t  ,<ttf)tth()U,s)n.  in  //.s’  feclintf  and  method 
a/n/  (‘on  rt  n f tona  lizri/  yvfa//.v  the  liiizaniiiK  tradition:  the  central  rompo.sitlou 

of  paintina  nnitina  fin  pre.'((>tt  and  the  pa.'it.  The  upper  portion  in  it.>t  fat  tonea 
iinifafes,  thonph  in  much  hiaht  r reVu  t,  the  appTad  rais(d  ornament  of  the  Renaissance.  V'hih 
the  loirer  p'pnres,  holdimi  the  siimbols  of  the  Ras.'don,  are  rendered  in  the  modern  technique. 
The  inscription . copiid  from  a mediaeval  oripinal.  map  he  t ranslated  so  as  to  reproeince  the 
cnrions  plat/  upon  irords:  "Made  man.  tlwnph  mifself  the  maker  of  man  and  Redeemer  ofj 
what  I have  made,  I rethem  in  mif  hodp  their  bodies  and  souls,  bein<f  God.” 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


ism  and  Apostasy  from  the  Faith  in  the  One  God 
that  they  are  intended  to  represent,  but  it  is  con- 
fusing to  the  eye.  Moreos^er,  the  forms  are  asso- 
ciated with  a great  deal  of  abstruse  symbolism, 
unintelligible  to  most  people,  so  that  all  but  a few 
visitors  miss  the  decorative  intention  of  the  paint- 
ings and  devote  the  greater  portion  of  their  study 
to  the  printed  key. 

' Sargent  himself  would  seem  to  have  realised  that 
he  has  here  overdone  the  literary  allusiveness  of  his 
subject,  for  in  his  latest  work.  The  Dogma  of  Re- 
demption,  the  symbolism  is  comparatively  simple, 
and  he  has  reverted  also  to  simplicity  of  forms, 
partly  basing  his  composition  upon  the  examples 
of  the  Byzantine  decorators,  in  many  respects  the 
finest  in  the  Old  World. 

For  their  forms  were  very  simple,  and  simply 
handled;  not  modelled  into  relief,  but  kept  as  a 
pattern  of  masses,  of  coloured  masses  harmonised 
into  a rich  tone,  so  that  the  whole  painting  was 
very  fiat.  It  clung  to  the  wall,  proclaimed  the  fact 
of  the  wall  beneath,  and  was  in  a very  strict  sense 
mural. 

A consciousness  of  the  value  of  such  principles 
of  painting  for  the  purpose  of  mural  decoration 
is  one  of  the  distinguished  characteristics  of  the 
panels  by  Puvis  de  Chavannes  in  the  Boston  Li- 
brary. In  the  Library  of  Congress  it  has  also 
prompted  the  method  of  Kenyon  Cox,  But  the 

[ 32a  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


latter,  while  an  excellent  draughtsman,  is  no  colour- 
ist. Flis  panels  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences ^ with 
their  pale  tinting  not  drawn  into  harmonic  rela- 
tion, give  the  impression  of  a good  design  not  yet 
completed. 

The  design  itself  is  a formal  arrangement  of 
female  figures,  each  bearing  an  emblem  of  the 
particular  art  or  science  which  it  is  intended  to 
symbolise.  Were  the  colour  as  effective  as  the 
drawing,  the  result  would  be  exceedingly  decora- 
tive; though,  in  other  respects,  as  impoverished  as 
the  present  tinting.  For  the  conception  displays 
no  imagination  and  offers  little  interest  to  the  visi- 
tor. In  this  threadbare  affectation  of  classicalism 
there  is  evidence  neither  of  American  inspiration 
nor  of  the  painter  himself  having  any  participation 
in  the  fulness  of  our  modern  life.  His  aim  has 
been  solely  decorative. 

No  doubt  the  painter  himself  would  admit  it, 
and  very  likely  would  defend  the  position  that  the 
whole  end  of  decoration  is  to  be  decorative.  That, 
however,  was  not  the  characteristic  of  the  great 
days  of  Mural  Decoration.  Many  of  the  finest 
examples  were  more  or  less  frankly  illustrations,  as 
well  as  decorations,  intended  to  bring  home  the 
truths  and  doctrines  of  Christianity  to  the  masses; 
while  those  of  a more  purely  decorative  character 
were  of  a kind  not  only  to  appeal  to  the  taste  of 
cultivated  people,  but  to  stimulate  their  imag- 

[324] 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


ination  and  their  personal  and  local  pride.  In 
either  case  the  decoration  was  significant  of  the 
habit  of  mind  and  feeling  of  its  era.  So  far,  how- 
ever, in  American  Mural  Painting  there  has  been 
little  indication  even  of  the  modern  spirit,  much 
less  of  the  particular  genius  of  America.  It  is  still 
an  exotic,  imperfectly  acclimatised,  and  not  yet 
adapted  to  our  soil. 

Nevertheless,  there  have  been  numerous  attempts 
to  make  the  subject  interpret  our  special  conditions. 
C.  Y.  Turner,  for  example,  in  the  Manhattan  Hotel, 
New  York,  has  represented  the  City  as  a queenly 
maiden  surrounded  by  other  maidens,  typifying  the 
arts  and  sciences;  while  in  attendance  are  realistic 
figures  of  Indians,  Colonials,  and  portrait-groups 
of  scientists  and  other  distinguished  persons.  A 
similar  mingling  of  allegory  and  fact  appears  in 
Albert  Herter’s  panels  of  Agriculture  and  Com- 
meree  in  a New  York  bank;  and  in  panels  by  Ed- 
win H.  Blashfield:  at  Baltimore  of  Washington 
Relinquishing  Office;  at  the  Capitol  of  St.  Paul, 
commemorating  the  agricultural  triumphs  of  the 
West,  and  at  Pittsburg,  celebrating  the  steel  indus- 
tries. This  last  subject  has  been  treated  anew,  and 
again  with  a mingling  of  allegorical  figures  and 
of  more  or  less  realistic  accessories,  in  the  recent 
paintings,  executed  by  John  W.  Alexander,  for  the 
Carnegie  Institute. 

On  the  other  hand,  panels  illustrating  actual 
[3S5] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


incidents  and  treated  with  regard  for  historical  ac- 
curacy have  been  painted  for  the  Boston  State 
House  by  Robert  Reid  and  Edward  Simmons, 
while  a corresponding  motive  influenced  the  treat- 
ment of  F.  D.  Millet’s  Treaty  of  the  Traverse  des 
Siouoo,  for  the  Capitol  of  St.  Pauf  and  C.  Y. 
Turner’s  Opening  of  the  Erie  Canal,  for  the  De 
Witt  Clinton  High  School,  New  York. 

So  far,  therefore,  as  the  character  of  the  sub- 
ject is  concerned,  we  And  our  painters  following  the 
example  of  the  old  Italians.  Sometimes  they  treat 
an  incident  with  the  fidelity  to  facts  of  an  illus- 
tration; sometimes  they  unite  allegorical  and  real- 
istic elements.  Evidently,  then,  neither  of  these 
methods  is  absolutely  right  or  absolutely  wrong. 
The  character  of  the  subject,  in  fact,  is  only  a part 
of  the  matter.  Of  even  more  importance  is  the 
manner  in  which  the  subject  is  represented.  In  the 
first  place,  whether  the  motive  is  allegorical  or 
realistic,  the  treatment  must  be  decorative : the 
painting  must  be  a pattern  of  colour,  adorning  the 
space  and  harmonising  with  the  form  and  spirit  of 
the  surrounding  architecture.  But  is  this  all  that 
is  desirable? 

Are  we  to  be  satisfied  merely  wdth  an  agreeable 
or  sumptuous  impression?  Shall  we  not  look  to 
receive  some  stir  to  our  imagination,  some  fresh 
insight  into  or  encouragement  of  the  principles  we 
believe  in,  some  enlargement  of  our  mental  and 

[326] 


A Mural  Decoration  in  the  Capitol  of  Minnesota 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


spiritual  horizon?  It  is  futile  to  say  that  the  times 
are  changed;  that  now,  since  the  majority  of  people 
can  read,  pictures  have  ceased  to  be  a necessary  or 
suitable  way  of  reaching  the  imagination  and  con- 
science. It  is,  on  the  contrary,  extraordinary  how 
little  essential  conditions  are  changed.  Our  present 
age,  it  is  true,  is  a reading  one,  of  an  insatiable 
hunger  for  reading ; yet  was  there  ever  a time  when 
there  was  so  much  illustration?  Those  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  keep  a touch  upon  the  public  pulse  and 
diagnose  the  symptoms  of  its  taste,  assert  that  it 
craves  illustrations  and  must  have  them.  Cer- 
tainly it  gets  them,  and  one  hears  no  protest. 

No,  the  fault  is  not  with  the  public,  but  with  the 
painters  themselves.  They  are,  for  the  most  part, 
out  of  touch  with  the  vital  forces  at  work  in  the 
community,  nor  possessed  of  that  vigour  and  orig- 
inality which  characterises  the  leaders  in  other  de- 
partments of  life.  Too  few  of  them  can  strike 
out  a truth  on  the  anvil  of  facts,  as  Vedder  has 
done  in  his  decorations  at  Washington,  particularly 
in  the  one  that,  with  a mingling  of  allegory  and 
realism,  embodies  the  idea  of  Corrupt  Government, 
The  sleek  respectability  of  the  pious-faced  briber, 
the  slatternly  wantonness  of  the  women  whom  he 
prostitutes,  the  mute  protest  of  the  smokeless 
chimney-stack,  the  piteous  appeal  of  the  destitute, 
haggard  child — at  a glance  is  revealed  the  hideous 
loathsomeness  of  the  whole  dirty  business.  It  is 

[329] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


the  work  of  a man  who  has  a mind  to  comprehend 
the  fact,  and  an  imagination  that  can  invest  it  with 
a new  force  of  meaning,  and  who,  moreover,  is  a 
born  decorator. 

These  are  unusual  qualities,  especially  in  com- 
bination, and  it  is  the  lack  of  them  that  is  most  con- 
spicuous in  American  Mural  decoration.  Nowhere 
do  conditions,  present  and  past,  offer  more  abun- 
dant suggestions  to  the  imagination,  and  nowhere 
are  mural  painters  receiving  so  much  encourage- 
ment of  opportunity.  Yet,  with  shght  exceptions, 
they  have  not  yet  risen  to  the  occasion.  If  we  seek 
further  reasons,  we  may  find  them,  first  of  all,  in 
the  fact  that  most  of  them  are  not  decorators.  The 
latter  are  born,  not  made;  the  gift  is  primarily  one 
of  exuberant  inventiveness.  Now,  American  Art, 
in  all  its  branches,  is  so  far  singularly  barren  of 
this  quality.  Its  present  phase  involves  a more  or 
less  tactful  application  of  eclecticism.  Again,  the 
painters  have  been  trained  in  a good  school;  but 
one  which  did  not  include  any  separate  considera- 
tion of  mural  decoration;  nor  in  this  direction  is 
any  real  provision  being  made  even  now  for 
younger  students,  notwithstanding  that  this  offers 
them  a very  large  field  and  a rich  one.  ^Moreover, 
our  older  men  have  not  recovered  from  the  para- 
lysing effects  of  the  “ art  for  art’s  sake  ” formula. 
Taught  in  their  youth  to  be  afraid  of  an  idea,  their 
ability  to  conceive  or  express  one  has  been  stunted. 

[ 330] 


NOTES  ON  MURAL  PAINTING 


They  have  nothing  of  the  dare-devil  in  their  con- 
ception. And  there  is  another  reason.  The  best 
development  in  our  painting  has  been  along  the 
lines  of  the  small  canvas,  intimately  treated.  The 
excessive  influence  of  the  Barbizon  pictures,  the 
preciosity  that  Whistler’s  example  fostered,  and  the 
mild  domesticity  of  American  fiction,  only  now 
just  yielding  place  to  the  romantic  imagining  of 
the  red-blooded  writers,  have  helped  to  confine  our 
painting  within  very  sincere  but  very  limited  meth- 
ods of  expression. 

As  compared  with  this  propriety,  which  is  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  American  art,  both  lit- 
erary and  pictorial,  the  country  itself  presents  a 
crudity  of  contrasts.  A virility,  not  without  its 
flavour  of  brutality,  characterises  the  active  life  of 
the  community,  while  its  leisure  is  gilded  and  bro- 
caded with  a luxuriousness  that  recalls  the  splen- 
dour of  Monarchical  France  or  of  Imperial  Rome. 
But  deep  beneath  the  myriad  lights  and  shadows 
of  the  surface  is  an  earnestness  of  pride  in  the  past 
and  present  of  the  race,  and  of  confidence  in  the 
future,  that  in  its  reasonableness  is  without  a paral- 
lel in  history. 

Some  day,  upon  the  walls  of  the  buildings  that 
embody  this  grandeur,  we  may  hope  that  there 
will  be  mural  decorations  which  in  magnitude  of 
conception  and  splendour  of  decorative  treatment 
will  adequately  represent  the  theme. 

[331] 


CHAPTER  XV 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


H 


AVING  traced  the  various  influences 


years,  we  may  reasonably  attempt  a summary  of 
the  results.  Since  our  art  has  aligned  itself  with 
that  of  other  countries,  how  does  it  stand  in  com- 
parison with  theirs? 

Fi’equently  one  hears  the  question  asked  in  a 
somewhat  different  form.  Is  there  yet  a distinctly 
American  school  of  painting;  and,  if  so,  how  does 
it  compare  with  other  schools  ? But,  strictly  speak- 
ing, there  are  no  longer  distinct  schools  anywhere, 
since  the  reasons  which  accounted  for  their  exist- 
ence in  the  past  no  longer  exist  to-day.  As  we 
have  seen  in  the  previous  pages,  the  whole  trend 
of  modern  art  has  been  toward  a free-trade  in  mo- 
tives and  methods,  the  clearing-house  of  which  for 
all  the  world  has  been  Paris.  Yet,  while  the  age 
of  close  communities  of  artists,  following  some  dis- 
tinct tradition  or  influenced  by  some  one  leader, 
and  producing  work  which  bears  the  stamp  of  a 
common  sentiment  and  manner  of  expression,  is 
past,  it  is  unquestionably  true  that  the  local  con- 


which  have  affected  the  development  of 
American  painting  during  the  past  fifty 


[ S32  ] 


By  Courtesy  of  N.  E.  Montroaa 

ON  THE  CANAL  W.  L.  Lathrop 

F'W^HIS  artist  is  pre-eminently  an  interpreter  of  nature  in  her  gentlest  and  least  obtrusive  moods^  represented 
m generally  by  subjects  to  which  it  is  only  sympathetic  observation  and  delicate  rendering  of  tonality  that  lend 
interest. 


-• 


if 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


ditions  of  race  temperament  and  natural  environ- 
ment do  still  stamp  with  a certain  general  dis- 
tinction the  work  of  each  country.  It  is  not  diffi- 
cult, for  example,  in  the  presence  of  a given  picture, 
to  be  secure  in  the  conclusion  that  it  is  Dutch  or 
German,  French  or  English.  Is  there,  then,  any 
corresponding  mark  by  which  we  could  feel  equally 
sure  that  such  and  such  a picture  was  by  an  Ameri- 
can painter?  I believe  there  is;  but  let  us  try  to 
make  this  question  answer  itself. 

The  Dutch  picture  is  readily  identified;  firstly, 
because  the  subject  in  almost  every  case  is  drawn 
from  the  natural  and  human  life  of  Holland,  the 
externals  of  which  are  so  distinctly  characteristic; 
and,  secondly,  because  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  ex- 
ternal is  reproduced.  The  country,  in  fact,  is 
small  enough  to  have  a spirit  that  is  recognisable 
as  characteristic.  Its  low-lying  land  and  immense 
skies,  the  richness  of  vegetation  due  to  the  preva- 
lence of  moisture,  both  in  rain-laden  clouds  over- 
head and  in  the  canals  and  ditches  that  interthread 
the  soil,  the  fitfulness  of  sunshine,  now  glinting 
crisply  between  the  showers  or  lambent  over  the 
polders,  now  chastened  by  the  silky  atmosphere  or 
shrouded  in  vapour  till  its  light  and  warmth  are 
chiUed  to  greyness — all  these  and  many  other  con- 
ditions, so  frequent  and  expressive,  give  a distinc- 
tion to  Holland  and  form  the  most  affectionate 
study  of  her  artists.  They  are  all  in  love  with  the 

[ 335  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


same  mistress,  and  she  shows  to  each  the  same 
changes  of  moods,  so  that  their  various  renderings 
of  her  spirit  bear  a likeness  to  one  another. 

Recognising  this,  we  see  at  once  that  there  can 
scarcely  be  a similar  unity  of  feeling  in  the  work 
of  American  artists.  Even  if  the  devotion  to  the 
pictorial  aspects  of  their  own  countiy  were  as 
single-hearted,  the  country  itself  presents  no  such 
compact  synthesis  of  suggestion.  Both  in  topo- 
graphical features  and  in  the  still  more  significant 
matter  of  atmospheric  conditions,  wherein  reside 
the  moods  and  changes,  the  actual  expression  and 
spirit  of  the  scene,  the  country  offers  a wide  range 
of  differences.  The  intelligent  student  of  pic- 
tures, especially  if  he  is  also,  as  he  should  be,  a stu- 
dent of  nature,  can  recognise  at  once  this  scene 
drawn  from  California,  that  from  the  INIiddle  West, 
another  from  Pennsylvania,  and  still  another  from 
the  East.  These  are  broad  distinctions;  nor  are 
closer  ones  less  recognisable.  We  use  the  general 
term  New  England,  but  the  landscapes  from  each 
State  in  the  group,  both  in  form  and  feeling,  differ 
from  those  of  the  others.  When  we  realise  this, 
and  the  furtlier  fact  tliat  it  is  in  the  subtle  differ- 
entiation of  these  variations  of  natural  and  spirit- 
ual manifestations  that  the  best  art  of  to-day  is 
displayed,  we  are  admitting  the  impossibility  of 
there  being  such  family  resemblance  among  Ameri- 
can pictures  as  among  the  Dutch. 

[336  ] 


h 

n 

w 

Q 


w 

►j 


to 

w 

►J 

6 


MAGINE  the  foliage  of  a juicy  grayish  green,  the  sky  a greenish  gray,  and  you  begin  to  realize  the  feeling  of  the  picture.  It 
is  removed  from  the  warmth  of  sunlight,  withdrawn  into  a ‘"solitude”  of  feeling.  '' 

In  the  Collection  of  John  Gellatly,  Esq. 


THE  CLOUD 


Albert  L.  Groll 


xV  ArlzovM  hnxhcapp  h/  one  of  the  ahlesf  of  our  i/oumfer  painters.  IBs  work  is  distinguished  hg  the 
technical  skill  with  which  he  suggests  the  structure  as  well  as  the  forms  of  nature,  and  by  ds 
erf  cress  ion  id  qualify. 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


Then,  again,  there  is  the  general  resemblance 
that  may  characterise  the  work  of  painters  of  one 
country  through  idiosyncrasy  of  racial  tempera- 
ment. We  recognise,  for  example,  in  the  artists 
grouped  about  Munich,  a prevalence  of  exuberant 
and  original  imagination,  and  a direct  and  often 
somewhat  exaggerated  mode  of  expression;  traits 
of  the  Teutonic  temperament,  sufficiently  preva- 
lent to  make  it  almost  possible  to  speak  of  a Munich 
school.  But  you  will  find  no  counterpart  of  this 
among  American  painters.  If  anything  they  are 
rather  distinguished  for  the  opposite:  a certain  kind 
of  cosmopolitanism  of  feeling,  and  an  independ- 
ence of  one  another  in  their  methods. 

On  the  other  hand,  although  it  might  be  impossi- 
ble to  discover  any  positive  indications  of  uni- 
formity, certain  negative  resemblances  are  notable. 
It  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  careful  observers  at 
the  Paris  Exposition  of  1900,  when  there  was  ample 
opportunity  of  comparing  the  art  of  different  coun- 
tries, that  that  of  the  United  States  made  a very 
separate  impression.  Trying  to  analyse  it,  one 
found  one’s  self  recurring  to  phrases:  capability, 
moderation,  sanity,  and  perhaps  a lack  of  indi- 
vidualism. There  was  a general  high  standard  of 
craftsmanship,  the  equivalent  of  which  was  to  be 
found  perhaps  only  in  the  French  and  Dutch  ex- 
hibits. But,  unlike  the  French,  our  artists  seldom, 
if  ever,  seemed  to  use  their  technical  skill  with 

[339] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


ostentation,  either  to  display  mere  prowess  with  the 
brush  or  to  attract  attention  by  the  meretricious 
device  of  a startling  subject;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  unlike  the  Dutch,  they  failed,  as  a group,  to 
suggest  a marked  individuality.  I say  as  a group ; 
for,  of  course,  there  were  particular  examples  of 
notable  individuality.  But  the  general  impression 
of  the  ensemble  was  of  a moderation,  grateful  in 
comparison  with  the  ostentation  and  vagaries  that 
abounded  elsewhere,  but  in  itself  open  to  the  sug- 
gestion of  being  too  negative  a virtue,  a little  fibre- 
less and  lacking  in  marrow.  To  be  candid,  a similar 
lack  of  positive  moderation  may  be  charged  against 
our  annual  exhibitions  of  native  work.  For  there 
is  all  the  difi'erence  in  the  world  between  a strong 
man,  adjusting  his  output  of  strength  to  the  work 
in  hand,  while  holding  a portion  in  reserve,  and 
another  whose  moderation  seems  to  be  the  result 
of  not  having  an  abundance  of  either  force  or 
conviction. 

One  may  find  a counterpart  of  this  in  American 
fiction.  Publishers  are  fond  of  preaching  modera- 
tion. Both  in  illustration  and  in  writing  they  dis- 
courage mucli  that  is  original,  vital,  and  born  of 
convictions,  fearing  that  it  may  shock  the  sensi- 
bilities of  their  public.  Since  the  latter  is  over- 
whelmingly composed  of  young  girls,  they  may  ex- 
hibit an  appropriate  canniness,  but  the  result  upon 
a great  deal  of  our  literature  is  to  confuse  purity 

[ 340  ] 


Copyright,  1907,  N.  E.  Montross 

.Y  NIGHT  Willard  L.  Metcalf 

fjHIS  rtist  was  one  of  the  group  of  men  who  first  brought  from  Paris  the  practice  of 
the  plein  air  motive.  .The  study  of  light  in  its  effects  upon  open-air  nature  has  been 
his  constant  theme.  The  present  exampile  is  one  of  much  reverence  and  spiritual- 
of  feeling. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Corcoran  Gallery  of  Art 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  OLD  FARM 


J.  Francis  Murphy 


/MPELLED  perhaps  hy  popular  demand  for  his  ’‘^characteristic"  icork,  this  artist 
has  confined  his  observation  to  a limited  phase  of  nature.  The  present  example,  wdh 
its  stretch  of  meadow,  sprinkUny  of  delicate  tree  forms,  and  distant  hillside,  enveloped 
in  a smoky  haze  of  atmosphere,  well  represents  him.  Within  this  restricted  range  of 
expression  he  is  a master. 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


with  prudishness  and  sincerity  with  dilettanteism 
— to  crush  conviction  on  the  part  alike  of  author 
and  of  reader.  The  actual  plague  spot  of  this 
disease  centres  around  the  relation  of  the  sexes  in 
literature  and  the  use  of  the  nude  in  art,  but  its 
morbid  effects  spread  through  the  whole  body  of 
fiction  and  painting,  inducing  a flacid  condition  of 
self-consciousness  and  insincerity.  It  has  taken 
such  grip  of  artists  and  public  that  to  a consider- 
able extent  moderation  has  been  supplanted  by 
repression,  and  tamely  to  hold  back  is  esteemed 
worthier  than  to  put  forth  with  a reserve  of  power. 

The  effect  of  this  condition  which  has  become 
fluent  in  the  public  conscience  is  to  be  discovered 
in  our  painting.  For  its  prevalence  one  can 
scarcely  blame  the  painters.  They  represent  a 
comparatively  small  number  of  men  and  women, 
in  the  midst  of  a community  impregnated  with 
this  insincerity.  With  a few  exceptions  they  are 
unable  to  resist  the  effect  of  what  is  in  the  atmos- 
phere around  them ; and  the  less ' so  because,  as 
illustrators,  a majority  of  the  figure-painters,  at 
any  rate,  have  become  directly  infected  with  the 
prevailing  pseudo-ethics  of  the  publishers.  The 
necessity  of  prettiness,  of  not  giving  offence  to 
“the  most  fastidious,”  and  of  exploiting  the  ob- 
vious, has  been  urged  upon  them,  until  it  is  small 
wonder  that  a great  deal  of  American  painting  is 
characterised,  if  I may  be  allowed  the  expression, 

[343] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


by  irreproachable  table-manners  rather  than  by 
salient  self-expression;  by  a desire  to  be  amiable 
rather  than  convincing.  The  portrait-painter,  for 
example,  if  he  would  make  a living,  is  tempted  by 
the  vogue  of  the  pretty  face  in  periodicals  to  sacri- 
fice tmth  of  art  and  of  human  character  to  the  glib 
exploitation  of  prettiness  of  face  and  form  and 
flashiness  of  costume.  The  figure-painter  vill 
meet  his  readiest  reward  if  he  confine  himself  to 
subjects  of  trite  propriety,  represented  with  insist- 
ent regard  for  the  obvious;  while  even  the  painter 
of  landscape  is  lured  into  the  pleasant  moods  of 
innocuous  sentimentality.  The  taste  of  our  time, 
in  fact,  runs  to  superficial  sentimentality,  and  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  the  painter  is  apt  to 
respond  to  it. 

Among  those  who  have  maintained  a vigorously 
independent  course  and  whose  pictures,  whenever 
they  appear  in  exhibitions,  create  a pronounced 
interest,  none  is  more  conspicuous  than  Gari 
IMelchers.  To  a French  cleverness  of  brush  work 
he  has  added  from  his  frequent  sojourning  in  Hol- 
land, a conscientiousness  truly  Dutch.  Yet,  al- 
though he  has  spent  many  years  in  depicting  sub- 
jects of  the  Dutch  peasantry,  he  has,  unlike  many 
others  who  have  been  similarly  drawn  to  Holland, 
avoided  all  imitation  of  the  modern  Dutch  tech- 
nique. His  own,  indeed,  has  more  kinship  with 
that  of  the  old  Flemish  painters  in  its  enforcement 

[344] 


EARLY  SPRING  Leonard  Ochtman 

J DIONG  the  nrtis-fs  of  this  coiuifri/  who  have  taken  the  lead  in  studifimj  nature  in  the  lif/ht  of  the  open  air,  Ochtman 
y/j  has  won  a foremost  position.  He  is  keenUj  sensitire  to  the  quiet  moods  of  nature  and  to  the  manifestations  of  subtlest 
muilitii.  (umrases  eaual  his  in  refinement  of  observation  and  delicate  tonalitu. 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 

of  character,  elaboration  of  detail,  and  fondness 
for  the  qualities  of  texture.  Avoiding  alike  the 
summariness  of  much  modern  impressionism,  and 
the  perfection  of  finish  which  in  a Bourguereau, 
for  example,  is  so  tame  and  unlifelike,  he  recog- 
nises the  importance  of  detail  in  the  make-up  of 
the  whole,  and  by  his  frank  and  resolute  rendering 
of  it  gives  to  all  his  pictures  a markedly  individual 
personality.  In  this  respect  he  might  be  ranged 
alongside  of  Thomas  Eakins,  for  his  insight  of 
observation  and  fidelity  of  statement  are  corre- 
spondingly sure;  but  he  differs  from  the  older 
painter  in  having  essentially  a modern  point  of 
view.  This  leads  him  to  study  his  figures  and  ac- 
cessories under  the  effect  of  real  light,  for  the  most 
part  a cool,  evenly  diffused  light  which  admits  of 
little  shadow  and  avoids  any  spots  of  heightened 
piquancy.  Again,  it  draws  him  into  sympathy 
with  his  subject.  He  has  put  himself  in  touch 
with  the  lives  of  the  people,  the  young  peasant 
women  and  men,  whom  he  represents,  and  recog- 
nises the  sweetness  and  sadness  that  underly  its 
ruggedness.  His  expression  of  this  sentiment  is 
marked  by  the  same  comprehension  and  fidelity  to 
truth  that  distinguish  his  method  of  painting.  It 
is  as  far  as  possible  from  the  sentimentality  that 
mars  the  work  of  so  many  painters  of  the  peasant- 
subject,  just  as  his  technique  is  equally  devoid  of 
sloppiness  and  superficiality. 

[ 347  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 

This  distinction,  one  should  observe,  is  a measure 
of  Melchers’  own  character.  It  is  the  personality 
of  his  own  mental  distinction,  investing  everything 
he  does  with  original  directness  and  scrupulous 
truth.  The  importance  of  this  fact  cannot  be  over- 
stated: that  character  counts  in  painting  as  much 
as  in  any  other  department  of  life.  But  how  few 
people  seem  to  realise  this!  Because  a painter 
must  be  sensitive  to  certain  aspects,  such  as  those 
of  colour  and  form,  beyond  the  habit  of  men  en- 
gaged in  other  pursuits,  they  take  it  for  granted 
that  he  must  be  an  emotionalist  at  the  mercy  of 
his  sensibilities,  and  make  allowances  accordingly. 
Yet,  if  we  study  the  lives  and  works  of  artists,  not 
in  painting  only,  but  in  music,  sculpture,  and  litera- 
ture, we  shall  find,  perhaps  without  exception,  that 
the  greatest  results,  those,  I mean,  that  endure  and 
most  appeal  to  the  largest  number  of  thoughtful 
students,  are  those  which  are  the  product  of  sensi- 
bility controlled.  Not  by  any  means  has  all  strong 
V'Ork  been  the  output  of  artists  pliysically  strong; 
indeed,  the  balance,  if  one  carefully  reckoned  it, 
might  be  found  on  the  other  side;  but  whether 
physically  weak  or  strong,  they  have  been  strong  in 
character.  They  have  had  a mental  poise  that 
sustained  them,  and  set  the  standard  of  their  en- 
deavour and  accomplishment.  And  the  mental 
poise  is  the  product  of  a clear  and  vigorous  mind 
remaining  true  to  itself  and  enlarging  its  scope 

[348] 


THE  SLUICE  Frederick  Ballard  Williams 

r m 'yllE  landscapes  of  this  artist  are  distinguished  hy  largeness  of  feeling  combined  with  a close  observation 
a of  nature.  While  all  the  forms  are  strongly  contrasted,  he  excels  in  the  drawing  of  turlmlent  water. 
His  coloring  is  full  of  quality,  and  the  lighting  effects  are  admirably  done. 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  Gari  Melchers 

'T  Jf  T^ITH  no  meretricious  appeal  in  the  way  of  prettiness,  the  pic- 
§/§/  ture  compels  admiration  through  its  downright  acceptance 
^ ' of  the  facts  and  sincerity  of  sympathetic  comprehension. 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


by  contact  with  what  is  sane  and  true  in  surround- 
ing art  and  life. 

It  is  on  this  ground  that  art  and  morality  really 
meet;  namely,  in  the  person  of  the  artist  himself. 
For  I will  not  admit  that  view  held  by  many,  that 
art  must  be  moral  in  its  purpose  and  suggestion; 
by  which,  apparently,  it  is  meant  that  art  must  di- 
rectly assist  the  cause  of  morality  by  presenting 
subjects  in  which  the  virtue  of  morality  is  explicitly 
set  forth.  Although,  at  one  time,  art  did  splendid 
service  for  the  church  in  picturing  the  truth  of  doc- 
trine and  the  beauty  of  the  Bible  story  and  of  holy 
living,  that  was  only  one  of  the  glorious  incidents 
in  its  career.  But  the  real  domain  of  the  arts  is 
not  that  of  the  preacher,  the  philosopher,  or  the 
moralist.  It  is  to  make  known,  not  the  beauty  of 
holiness,  but  the  holiness  of  beauty,  to  a world 
overmuch  occupied  with  the  material  or  purely  in- 
tellectual sides  of  life.  It  is,  if  you  will,  to  sanc- 
tify the  senses  by  drawing  them  off  from  merely 
carnal  and  material  gratification,  to  a realisation 
of  the  abstract  essence  of  beauty  that  pervades  na- 
ture and  human  life.  Viewed  in  this  light,  it  is 
as  important  a factor  in  the  betterment  of  the  whole 
man,  the  body,  mind,  and  soul  that  are  in  all  of  us, 
as  are  the  labours  of  the  preacher,  the  philosopher, 
the  moralist,  and  the  purveyors  of  the  material 
necessaries  and  embellishments  of  life.  The  la- 
bours of  all  are  necessary  to  the  nurturing  of  the 

[351] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


whole  man,  of  the  full  life.  They  work  mutually, 
and  often  in  aim  and  result  impinge  upon  one  an- 
other’s domains.  But  each  is  separate. 

Yet,  even  if  this  be  so,  there  is  a definite  alliance 
between  art  and  morality,  if  by  the  latter  we  un- 
derstand the  being  true  to  what  is  best  in  us  and  the 
reaching  after  the  best  of  which  we  are  capable. 
And  the  highest  form  of  this,  as  I have  already 
hinted,  is  based  upon  superior  mental  qualities, 
controlled  by  strength  of  mind.  A man  may  be 
faithful  unto  death,  but  unless  his  acts  are 
prompted  and  controlled  by  strength  of  mind,  his 
faithfulness  differs  in  degree,  perhaps,  but  not  in 
quality,  from  that  of  a dog.  It  would  be  idle  to 
afiirm  that  mental  form  is  of  small  account  in  the 
qualification  of  a preacher,  a philosopher,  or  a 
business  man.  All  our  experience  is  to  the  con- 
trary. Yet  in  an  artist  we  customarily  overlook 
both  the  need  and  the  lack  of  it,  and  are  content 
to  regard  him  as  a chartered  emotionalist.  Ilis 
training  tends  to  afiirni  the  emotionalist  in  himself. 
Early  discovering  an  aptitude  for  drawing  and  a 
peculiar  sensitiveness  to  beauty,  he  enters  upon  a 
course  of  instruction,  too  much  limited  to  the  pro- 
motion of  these  qualities,  and  escapes  from  rough 
contact  with  men  and  things  and  the  discipline 
which  it  involves.  He  learns,  not  to  repress,  but  to 
express  himself;  to  take  his  feelings  as  a guide  to 
conduct,  and  to  nurse  and  pamper  them  as  his  most 

[ 352  ] 


MOTHER  AND  CHILD 


Gari  Melchers 


^ M ^HE  face  of  the  mother  recalls  that  of  The  Shepherdess,  only  now  it  is  not  heavy 
m with  toily  hut  alert  with  the  contentment  of  motherhood. 

In  the  Collection  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia 


THE  ttAILOR  AND  HIS  S^^  EETHEART  .Melchers 

E abstract  gaze  of  the  fisherman,  stolid  with  much  looking  on  skg  and  water;  the  personal,  straining  gaze  of  the 
M woman,  accustomed  to  wait  and  watch  for  her  man;  Ins  rough,  bluff  self-containedness,  the  action  of  her  hand  as  her  heart 

JL  goes  out  to  him — it  is  a bit  of  sentiment,  elemental  in  its  unaffected  simplicity  and  truth. 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


valuable  assets  in  life.  But  in  art,  as  in  other  voca- 
tions of  life,  it  is  the  man  who  is  endowed  with  in- 
tellectuality and  by  self-discipline  preserves  the 
integrity  of  this  endowment,  that  accomplishes 
the  vital  thing.  He  is  in  his  treatment  of  himself  a 
moral  man,  and  his  morality  is  declared  in  the 
poise  and  vigour  of  his  art. 

It  would  be  obviously  out  of  place  in  a work  of 
this  kind  to  cite  all  the  men  who  seem  to  one’s  self, 
as  Gari  Melchers  does,  to  represent  this  union  of 
artistic  sensibility  with  intellectual  integrity.  To 
attempt  such  a thing  would  be  to  pass  a very  seri- 
ous slight  upon  the  names  omitted;  and  it  has  been 
my  intention  to  avoid  as  far  as  possible  all  person- 
alities. Yet,  because  of  the  general  comment  that 
it  suggests,  I will  cite  one  other  instance,  that  of  a 
younger  painter,  whose  work  so  far  has  not  re- 
ceived the  consideration  to  which  it  seems  to  me 
entitled.  He  is  Robert  David  Gauley,  a pupil  of 
F.  W.  Benson  and  Edmund  C.  Tarbell  in  Boston, 
and  of  Bouguereau  and  Ferrier  in  Paris.  Subse- 
quently he  studied  Velasquez  in  Madrid,  and 
worked  and  studied  in  Holland.  This  variety  of 
influences  and  the  resolute  personality  of  Gauley 
himself  may  account  in  part  for  the  slowness  of 
his  acceptance  by  the  public. 

The  latter  is  more  readily  attracted  to  a painter 
whose  style  it  can  identify  immediately,  whereas 
this  one  has  been  assimilating  his  impressions  with 

[355  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


deliberation,  experimenting  in  various  methods  of 
technique,  and  holding  himself  back  from  the  ac- 
quisition of  any  formula  or  fixed  mode  of  paint- 
ing. Thus  the  public  is  thwarted  in  its  quite  intel- 
ligible satisfaction  of  being  able  to  exclaim,  as  it 
visits  an  exhibition:  “Look,  that  is  a Gauley!” 
On  the  other  hand,  he  may  fail  to  attract  general 
attention  because  there  is  nothing  of  the  obvious  in 
his  pictures,  none  of  those  elegant  little  irrelevances 
of  costume  or  pose  which  so  gladden  the  superfi- 
cial amateur  of  art.  The  ideal  toward  which  he  is 
working  is  by  contrast  a severe  one.  It  involves  in 
the  matter  of  composition  a search  for  choiceness 
as  well  as  dignity  of  line,  and  for  a movement  or 
pose  of  the  figure  that  unites  subtlety  with  sim- 
plicity. A corresponding  subtlety  and  choiceness 
distinguish  the  expression  of  the  whole.  The  jeal- 
ousy with  which  he  tries  to  keep  his  art  pure  of  any 
meretriciousness  determines  his  attitude  toward  his 
sitter.  Whether  the  latter  be  a man  or  woman,  he 
approaches  his  subject  with  a reverence  none  too 
usual  in  the  portrait  painter. 

For,  in  the  presence  of  so  many  portraits,  espe- 
cially of  women,  one  is  conscious  of  a lack  of  rev- 
erence in  the  mental  attitude  of  the  painter. 
Frequently  the  subject,  for  all  her  finery,  or  pos- 
sibly because  so  much  stress  has  been  put  upon  it, 
does  not  even  look  like  a lady.  She  has  been  made 
to  flaunt  her  person  and  costume  upon  one’s  notice 

[356  ] 


PORTRAIT  OF  A LADY 


PORTRAIT  of  rarely  choice  distinction. 


Robert  David  Gauley 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 

after  the  fashion  of  those  who  go  to  market  with 
their  personal  wares.  This  blatant  form  of  vulgar- 
ity, not  uncommon  in  the  portraits  by  foreigners, 
is,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  rarely  seen  in  those 
by  Americans.  Their  tendency  in  this  direction  is 
confined  for  the  most  part  to  a preoccupation  with 
frippery  and  to  an  exploitation  of  skill  of  painting 
for  its  own  sake.  The  result  may  be  not  so  bla- 
tantly vulgar,  but  it  none  the  less  indicates  irrever- 
ence. And,  mark  you,  irreverence  on  the  part  of  a 
painter  toward  the  manhood  or  womanhood  of  his 
subject  is  irreverence  toward  what  at  least  should 
be  sacred  to  him — his  own  art.  F or  peculiarly  true 
of  the  painter’s  case  is  that  old  saying  of  Novalis: 
“ There  is  but  one  temple  in  the  universe,  and  that 
is  the  body  of  man.”  Human  nature,  its  fabric  of 
flesh  and  its  indwelling  spirit,  is  the  highest  object 
of  the  artist’s  study,  the  richest  treasury  of  his  ar- 
tistic ideals.  If  he  hold  it  in  little  honour,  the  price 
he  pays  is  the  prostitution  of  his  art.  But  for  this 
prostitution,  to  the  existence  of  which  in  American 
painting  the  thoughtful  student  cannot  shut  his 
eyes,  the  American  public  is  in  part  responsible. 
One  could  name  painters  whose  ideals  were  true 
enough  at  the  start,  but  who  have  been  driven 
on  to  the  streets  of  easy  virtue  by  hard  conditions. 
The  public  demand  for  honest  art  is  so  small,  the 
reward  it  otFers  to  meretriciousness  so  cordial  and 
handsome.  Why  not?  You  cannot  make  a silk  . 

[359] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


purse  out  of  a sow’s  ear.  A society  sprawling  on 
materialism  and  wallowing  in  ostentatious  display 
— what  should  it  care  for,  or  even  know  of,  choice- 
ness of  taste  and  reverence  for  what  is  true  in  art? 
Naturally,  since  it  pays  the  piper,  it  calls  the  kind 
of  tune  it  likes;  and  the  piper  accordingly  must 
debauch  his  art  or  step  aside  and  rot.  Under  such 
circumstances  the  artist  needs  to  have  a more  than 
commonly  stout  heart  to  continue  to  be  true  to  him- 
self and  to  preserve  confidence  in  a saving  residue 
of  taste  in  the  public. 

For  that  there  is  such  a residue  one  knows.  While 
present  American  conditions  in  the  gross  are  not 
favourable  to  the  highest  possibilities  of  native  art, 
here,  there,  and  everywhere  throughout  the  country 
knowledge  and  taste  are  growing,  and  the  still, 
small  voice  of  true  appreciation  is  gathering  vol- 
ume. It  is  on  people  with  knowledge  enough  to 
dare  to  have  ojDinions  of  their  own,  and  with  the 
taste  that  can  distinguish  between  what  is  meretri- 
cious and  what  is  sterling,  that  the  future  of  Amer- 
ican art  depends. 


[360] 


CHAPTER  XVI 


SUMMAEY  CONTINUED 

IN  the  previous  chapter  I touched  upon  some  of 
the  insidious  effects  of  the  popular  taste  for 
prettiness.  These,  it  is  to  be  anticipated,  will 
pass  away  as  the  American  public  grows  in  serious 
appreciation  of  what  is  truly  beautiful  in  art.  But 
even  then  there  will  remain  another  phase  of  the 
matter  which  is  likely  to  be  of  perennial  interest, 
since  it  strikes  at  the  roots  of  our  conceptions  of 
beauty.  Stated  bluntly,  it  involves  the  question: 
How  far  is  the  conception  of  beauty  in  art  com- 
patible with  ugliness  ? 

At  the  outset  the  two  ideas  seem  to  be  mutually 
antagonistic,  and  so  they  are  reckoned  by  those  who 
narrow  their  conceptions  of  beauty  to  the  ideal 
purity  of  Greek  sculpture  of  the  golden  age,  and 
to  the  subsequent  work  of  Roman,  Rennaissance, 
and  later  times  that  tried  to  emulate  it.  With  all 
such  the  ideal  is  to  render  form  and  feeling  in  the 
harmony  of  a perfect  poise,  to  exclude  the  indi- 
vidual or  irregular,  and  to  imagine  and  suggest  an 
abstract  ideal  of  perfection.  But  in  actual  life 
absolute  perfection  of  form  is  not  to  be  found,  still 
less  a complete  harmony  of  poise  between  the  phys- 
ical, the  intellectual,  and  the  emotional.  Exception 

[361] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


both  to  one  and  to  the  other  is  the  rule.  So  the 
question  eternally  cropping  up,  eternally  unsolved, 
arises  out  of  the  artist’s  attitude  toward  life.  Does 
he  regard  life  itself  as  the  end  and  object  of  his 
study,  or  merely  as  a rich  mine  from  which  he  may 
extract  ore  to  fashion  it  into  creations  of  his  own 
imagination?  In  the  latter  case  he  will  strive  to  im- 
prove upon  nature,  in  the  former  to  represent  it  as 
it  is.  These  two  ideals  of  art  differ  so  widely  that 
it  is  difficult  for  the  artists  who  eml)race  the  one  to 
have  much  sympathy  with  those  in  the  opposite 
camp.  For  the  layman,  however,  there  need  he  no 
such  difficulty,  because  his  detachment  from  any 
preoccupation  with  technique  enables  him  to  view 
the  matter  from  outside.  Doing  so,  he  may,  if  he 
has  clear  eyes,  find  truth  in  both  directions.  Many 
a layman  will  reach  his  conclusions  somewhat  in 
this  fashion: 

To  him  it  seems  that  life  is  the  thing  of  supreme 
importance;  art  being  but  one  of  the  sources  of 
higher  living.  He  thinks  of  art  as  a magic  mirror 
in  which  life  is  reflected,  and  looks  to  find  in  it  a 
heightened  impression  of  the  things  of  sight,  as  a 
suggestion  to  the  spirit  or  sense-imagination  of  the 
things  not  seen.  If  the  mirror  only  gives  back  a 
repeated  vision  of  what  he  can  see  with  his  own 
eyes,  he  is  disappointed,  for  in  this  case  art  has 
added  nothing  to  nature.  There  is  no  heightening 
of  impression,  no  stimulus  to  imagination  or  spirit. 

[362] 


THE  SILVER  GOWN  Howard  J.  Cushing 


GOOD  example  of  a young  painter  whose  work  is  char- 
acterized hy  originality  of  feeling,  a refined  color  sense, 
and  a distinguished  quality  of  line. 


SS  >- 


a ?fc 

So'  5 ~ 


5 


I 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


He  may  admire  the  skill  or  fidelity  with  which  this 
vision  has  been  produced,  even  as  he  admires  the 
craftsmanship  involved  in  the  mechanism  of  a piece 
of  machinery,  but  for  him  in  neither  case  is  there 
any  evidence  of  creation.  The  mechanic,  whether 
his  tool  be  the  brush  or  turning  lathe,  is  but  engaged 
in  reproducing;  he  is  not  an  inventor.  And  the 
painter  is  only  an  inventor,  a creator,  if  he  has  the 
artist’s  vision,  by  means  of  which  our  own  may  be 
kindled  to  a heightened  sense  of  beauty. 

By  the  time  that  we  have  learned  to  demand  this 
of  a painter,  and  to  refuse  him  the  higher  title  of 
artist,  unless  he  comply  with  it,  our  whole  attitude 
toward  pictures  is  changed.  Especially  do  we 
cease  to  concern  ourselves  much  with  the  subject 
of  the  picture.  The  most  exalted  subject  will  not 
of  itself  impress  us.  It  is  not  the  subject,  but  the 
artist’s  vision  of  it,  which  affects  us.  A pumpkin, 
rendered  by  that  great  French  master  of  still-life, 
Vollon,  may  move  us  deeply,  where  an  elaborate 
figure  composition  leaves  us  cold.  And  why?  Be- 
cause VoUon’s  pumpkin  becomes,  as  it  were,  a 
symbol  through  which  we  receive  a heightened  im- 
pression of  the  sumptuousness  and  subtlety  of 
nature’s  colouring,  the  vitalising  power  of  light, 
and  the  opulence  of  nature’s  productive  vigour. 
Our  own  sensibility  is  enriched;  for  the  moment,  at 
least,  we  live  more  abundantly.  And  for  this 
effect  upon  ourselves  we  are  indebted  to  the  artist’s 

[ 365  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


vision,  which  he  has  enabled  us  to  share  through  his 
power  to  give  it  technical  expression. 

But  if  he  is  endowed  with  these  qualifications  of 
vision  and  expression,  the  artist  can  look  upon  na- 
ture and  life  and  find  in  them  occasions  of  beauty, 
overlooked  by  ordinary  eyes.  He  will  even  dis- 
cover beauty  lurking  in  ugliness,  or  by  his  treat- 
ment of  the  latter  will  transmute  it  into  a form  of 
beauty.  For,  in  the  first  place,  what  do  we  our- 
selves understand  by  ugliness?  Have  we  in  mind 
some  such  exaggerated  type  of  physical  formation 
as  that  of  a toad  or  spider-crab,  or,  to  take  another 
extreme  instance,  that  of  a man  of  the  slums  who 
is  morally  as  well  as  physically  deteriorated,  offen- 
sive alike  to  our  senses  and  our  conscience?  But, 
as  to  nature’s  form  of  so-called  ugliness,  I doubt 
if  there  be  one,  however  abnormal  in  comparison 
with  our  ordinary  standards  of  comeliness,  but  has 
some  quality  of  colouring  or  of  movement  that  to 
the  searching  eye  of  the  artist’s  vision  may  not  be 
able  to  yield  suggestion  of  beauty,  which  his  tech- 
nical skill  will  evolve  into  expression.  The  Japa- 
nese, in  their  carvings,  lacquers,  and  prints,  have 
abundantly  illustrated  this.  As  to  the  slum-man, 
we  may  turn  from  him  with  repugnance,  but  it  is 
precisely  to  him  that  the  Salvation  Army  turns,  in 
its  conviction  that  somewhere  latent  in  him  is  still 
a possibility  of  goodness.  Similarly  an  artist  may 
turn  to  him  as  a source  of  artistic  inspiration.  If 

[366] 


Copyright,  ^9oe,  hy  Hugo  BalUn 

EUROPA  SIBYL  Hugo  Ballix 


Y allegorical  subject  represented  in  a spirit  that  is  essentially,  even  if  not  too  ob- 
viously, academic,  for  the  idealism  scarcely  pervades  the  feeling  of  the  picture. 
It  is,  rather,  the  result  of  costumes  and  accessories  that  are  out  of  the  usual. 


BOYS  wmi  I-ISII  CI.ABIES  W.  HA«T.,0RKn 

seem  in  the  r(  production  a hnifnlifu  of  eff-ct  is  alleviated  in  the  oripi- 
^^t'S'teritp  irith  udiirh  the  colors  and  slipperp  forms  of  the  fish  are 
*'od(  r((l.  Jhe  p-ainter  is  p(  rhaps  the  last  of  Cha.sa's  pupils,  but  has  pet  to 
p'nd  himsflf.  That  he  u'iU  tjo  ,s*,)  probable,  throuph  his  studif  in  Italp,  u'here  men  discover 
that  brushwork  does  m>t  constitute  the  whole  art  of  paintinp. 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


he  does  so,  he  has  the  excellent  precedent,  among 
others,  of  Rembrandt  and  Velasquez.  Shall  we 
venture  to  deny  to  those  artists  a sense  of  beauty, 
or  shall  we  reconstruct  our  notion  of  beauty  so  as 
to  include  their  example?  I think  the  latter  will 
seem  the  wiser  plan.  The  notion,  then,  of  beauty, 
so  extended,  involves  character;  both  expression  of 
character  and  character  of  expression.  Character 
implies  something  distinctive,  individual,  so  far 
abnormal  that  it  is  a deviation  from  the  general  run, 
and  still  more  so  from  the  abstract  type.  It  is,  for 
example,  the  quality  conspicuous  in  a locust  tree, 
so  unexpectedly  original  in  its  growth,  as  com- 
pared with  the  exquisitely  balanced  grace  of  an 
American  elm.  Really  one  might  venture  to  illus- 
trate the  difference  between  the  academic  under- 
standing of  beauty,  and  the  extended  acceptation 
of  it  to  include  character,  by  the  comparison  of 
these  two  trees. 

But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  artist  com- 
prehends character  as  a functional  quality.  He 
deals  primarily  with  externals,  and,  while  he  may 
not  be  unconscious  of  the  psychological  import  of 
character,  it  is  primarily  its  effect  upon  the  phys- 
ical aspect  that  he  notes  and  renders.  If  he  is  really 
a nature-student,  it  is  character  in  a human  being, 
affecting  the  latter’s  form,  the  functions  of  the 
limbs  and  joints,  the  disposition  and  texture  of  the 
flesh,  the  very  kind  and  carrying  of  the  clothes, 

[369] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


that  form  a large  portion  of  his  study.  Or,  if  he 
is  a landscape  painter,  the  effect  of  permanent  en- 
vironment and  temporary  conditions  upon  the 
forms  of  objects.  Always  he  feels  the  forces 
working  through  nature  and  declaring  themselves 
in  form.  It  is  the  beauty  of  nature’s  law  of  cause 
and  effect,  illustrated  in  a myriad  aspects,  that  at- 
tracts him,  rather  than  man’s  invention  of  an  ab- 
stract perfection  of  beauty.  And  it  is  because  that 
law  is  working  in  the  slum-man  that  he  claims  the 
right,  if  he  will,  to  make  him  the  subject  of  artistic 
study.  We  may  shudder  at  the  evidences  of  func- 
tional degradation  presented  in  the  picture,  but  do 
not  let  us  forget  that  there  are  the  physical  and 
moral  counterparts  of  this  in  the  tragedies  of 
CKdipus  and  Othello.  But,  you  will  say,  these  are 
clothed  in  a splendour  of  diction  that  dignifies  the 
theme.  Quite  so,  and  it  is  precisely  a correspond- 
ing splendour  of  technical  presentation  that  justi- 
fies the  treatment  of  horrible  subjects  in  pictures. 
There  should  be  character  of  expression  as  well  as 
expression  of  character. 

The  foregoing  analysis  of  the  place  of  so-called 
ugliness  in  art  has  been  suggested  by  the  effort 
of  a few  of  our  younger  painters  to  shake  them- 
selves free  from  the  fetters  of  prettiness  and  senti- 
mentality in  which  much  American  art  is  confined. 
They  are  men  who  are  interested  in  life  as  well  as 
art,  and  who  use  the  one  to  interpret  the  other. 

[370  ] 


JoHX  Sloan 


EASTER  EVE 

, • • Tho  <iuh)pcf  has  been  feh  as  well  as  seen^  and 

i/,«  spectator  icith  the  effect  produced  on  the  arUst  s men  mmd 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 

One  of  these  is  John  Sloan,  a native  of  Philadel- 
phia, and  a pupil  of  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of 
the  Fine  Arts.  He  is  now  a resident  of  New  York, 
v/hose  crowded  avenues,  especially  on  the  West 
Side,  supply  the  subjects  of  his  choice.  For  it  is 
what  the  Japanese  call  the  “ Ukiyoye  ” that  attracts 
him — ^the  “ passing  show  ” of  shops  and  streets, 
overhead  and  surface  traffic,  and  the  moving 
throngs  of  people,  smart  and  squalid,  sad  and  merry 
— a phantasmagoria  of  changing  colour,  form,  and 
action.  Out  of  the  multiplied  features  of  the  scene, 
by  eliminating  some  and  emphasising  others,  he 
produces  a synthesis  of  effect,  in  which  confusion 
has  disappeared,  but  the  suggestion  of  vivid  actu- 
ality remains.  His  pictures  are  excellent  examples 
of  modern  impressionism;  but,  while  the  rendering 
of  the  spectacle  presented  to  the  eye  is  his  first  con- 
cern, his  mind  also  is  busy  with  the  human  comedy 
and  tragedy  that  beats  below  the  surface.  It  is  the 
humanity  of  the  scene,  as  well  as  its  pictorial  sug- 
gestions, that  interests  him.  Not,  however,  in  the 
way  of  telling  a definite  story,  but  by  inference  and 
suggestion.  It  is  an  impression  of  the  human  in- 
terest that  he  has  received,  and  he  renders  it  im- 
pressionistically. A writer,  for  example,  if  he 
were  attracted  by  one  of  these  scenes  with  its  inci- 
dental suggestion,  might  make  it  the  subject  of  a 
story,  inventing  a past  and  present  for  the  person- 
ages and  a sequel  to  what  they  are  engaged  in;  in- 

[ S73  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


vesting  them  and  the  situation  with  detailed  motive 
and  conduct,  and  elaborating  a denouement. 
Many  a painter  also,  mostly  of  the  old-fashioned 
kind,  might  attempt  to  force  upon  your  attention 
a corresponding  definition  of  detailed  incident. 
But  he  would  operate  under  the  serious  limitation 
of  being  able  to  represent  only  one  single  phase  of 
the  story.  Sloan,  like  other  impressionists,  rec- 
ognising this  limitation,  avoids  all  competition  with 
the  verbal  artist,  and  renders  exclusively  a painter’s 
impression  both  of  the  scene  and  of  its  underlying 
human  interest.  lie  grasps  the  actual  moment  of 
appearance  and  suggestion. 

In  the  rendering  of  these  scenes  line  is  super- 
seded by  masses ; the  whole  is  viewed  as  a collection 
of  coloured  patches,  differing  in  hues,  in  the 
amount  of  light  which  they  receive,  and  in  the 
cpiantity  of  atmosphere  which  intervenes  between 
them  and  the  eye  of  the  observer.  Is  it  necessary 
to  add  that  this  impressionistic  vision  is,  after  all, 
the  nonnal  way  in  which  the  eye  receives  impres- 
sions of  a scene?  We  are  not  conscious  of  hard 
lines  enclosing  objects,  but  of  contours  more  or  less 
blurred  and  blending;  forming  masses  of  light  and 
dark,  or  of  light  and  less  light,  of  various  hues  and 
shapes.  But  in  the  actual  scene,  especially  if  it  be 
laid  in  a crowded  thoroughfare,  flanked  by  the 
irregularities  of  buildings,  the  masses,  both  in  their 
variety  and  shape,  will  present  a good  deal  of  the 

[3TI] 


T; 

tiDUMPING  SNOW 


George  Luks 


^ m ^11  ERE  is  a brutal  side  to  life,  when  the  necessities  of  existence  force  themselves  upon  one.  It  is 
, m such  a scene  that  is  here  represented.  A lowering  sky,  a city  choked  with  snow — the  only 
receptacle  for  it  the  dark,  swirling  water  of  the  river.  The  conditions  are  monstrous,  a modern 
revival  of  the  fight  of  the  earth-folk  with  the  Titans.  In  a very  remarkable  way  the  young  painter  has 
comprehended  the  significance  of  what  to  the  average  eye  might  seem  a very  ordinary  scene. 


I 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


bizarrerie  of  a crazy  quilt.  It  is  a part  of  the  ar- 
tist’s vision  to  draw  these  conflicting  elements  into 
a harmony  of  colour,  lighting,  tone,  and  atmos- 
phere; so  that  the  impression  rendered  may  be  one 
of  artistic  ensemble.  By  the  time  that  the  work  has 
gone  through  the  artist’s  two  processes  of  receiv- 
ing and  rendering  his  impressions,  it  will  partake 
of  the  unity  of  his  own  individuality  and  tempera- 
ment. It  will  still  give  a suggestion  of  variety  and 
busy  action,  but  the  different  features  of  activity 
will  be  busy  toward  a common  end,  the  modes  of 
variety  will  be  harmonised.  The  scene  itself,  com- 
posed of  a great  number  of  independent  units,  will 
have  become  unified  into  a picture  that  represents 
the  impression  of  a single  mind. 

Now,  our  appreciation  of  the  picture  will  de- 
pend, not  only  upon  the  artist’s  ability  to  create 
this  ensemble  of  impression,  but  upon  our  own 
willingness  to  accept  it.  We  may  fail  of  the  latter 
for  two  reasons:  a general  dislike  of  the  impres- 
sionistic method,  or  a particular  one  of  the  kind 
of  subject  affected  by  Sloan  and  others.  With 
neither  is  it  any  use  to  argue,  since  likes  and  dis- 
likes are  largely  the  product  of  temperament.  Yet, 
if  possible,  they  should  be  fortified  by  judgment, 
based  upon  understanding.  Especially  should  this 
be  the  case  in  the  matter  of  impressionism,  since  it 
plays  so  large  a part  in  modern  art. 

Our  understanding  and  possible  appreciation  of 
[377] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 

it  depends  entirely — to  go  back  to  the  point  from 
which  we  started — upon  our  attitude  toward  the 
relation  between  art  and  life.  For  some  painters 
the  call  of  life  is  so  urgent  and  alluring  that  they 
are  not  satisfied  to  make  pictures  about  life,  but 
try  to  render  life  in  their  pictures.  The  distinction 
is  an  important  one.  In  the  one  case  the  scene 
within  the  frame,  having  had  its  origin  in  the  de- 
sire to  make  a picture,  continues  to  affect  us  as  a 
picture,  while  in  the  other  case  we  may  be  made 
to  forget  the  canvas,  paint,  and  frame,  and  find 
ourselves  looking,  as  through  a window,  out  upon 
a pageant  of  real  life.  Has  this  a fascination  for 
us,  as  it  had  for  the  painter?  We  may  agree  that 
it  has,  and  yet  demur  to  the  kind  of  life  that  the 
painter  has  chosen  to  render.  If  so,  we  are  again 
brouglit  back  to  tlie  attitude  of  art  toward  life. 
Shall  the  ])ainter  confine  his  study  to  idealising  life, 
or  at  least  to  presenting  only  its  comely  aspects,  or 
may  he  have  the  whole  run  of  life  for  his  field,  as 
the  writer  has;  trusting  to  the  sincerity  of  his  pur- 
pose and  the  beauty  of  his  technique  to  justify  the 
ugliness  of  his  theme?  Whatever  may  be  our  indi- 
vidual answer  to  this  question,  let  us  recognise  that 
the  work  of  Sloan  and  a few  others,  such  as  Robert 
Henri.  C.  W.  Hawthorne.  William  G.  Glackens, 
Jerome  ]Myers,  and  George  Luks,  is  a natural  and 
wholesome  reaction  from  the  vogue  of  frippery, 
tameness,  and  sentimentality.  It  has,  however,  its 

[ 378  ] 


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Copuright,  1906,  by  F..  Monrrott 

TWILIGHT  — AUTUMN  Dwight  W.  Tkvov 

^ CHARACTERISTIC  subject  — the  forecfrouml  stroiuf  nud  ru/id  ; shiuler  trees^  with  f()li(t<je  sjtrayed  (Kjninst  an 
y m aerial  distance  of  luminous  rihrations ; the  sentiment  exquisiteh/  subtle  in  its  aiqie.al  to  the  spirit. 


I 


1 

1 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


own  inherent  shortcoming  when  it  reveals  a ten- 
dency  to  be  overoccupied  with  the  appearances  of 
life,  and  makes  little  or  no  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion or  spirit.  Based  practically,  if  not  avowedly, 
upon  the  assumjjtion  that  “ seeing  is  believing,” 
that  the  painter’s  domain  is  that  of  the  eye,  it  may 
easily  ignore  the  at  least  equally  important  aspect 
of  life  which  is  made  up  of  things  not  seen.  It 
may  take  no  account  of  the  mystery  that  is  in  us 
and  everyw’here  about  us.  It  may  be  in  its  own 
superior  way  an  exploitation  of  the  obvious. 

One  should  understand  that  its  appearance  in 
American  painting  is  rather  belated;  for  it  is  but 
repeating  what  Courbet  and  Manet  did  for  the  re- 
freshment and  invigoration  of  French  art  forty 
years  ago.  They,  however,  were  the  leaders  in 
painting  of  the  theories  and  practices  entertained 
by  the  writers  of  the  period;  and  painters  and 
writers  alike  were  a part  of  the  realistic  movement 
that  was  affecting  the  thought  of  the  time.  But 
since  then  the  wheel  has  revolved;  realism  is  no 
longer  a motive ; it  is  now  only  one  of  other  means 
to  an  end.  People,  indeed,  have  grown  a little 
weary  of  the  diet,  discovering  that  they  cannot  live 
by  bread  alone.  Once  more  the  spiritual  needs  of 
man  are  awake  and  calling  to  be  fed.  Abroad,  es- 
pecially in  Germany,  the  more  progressive  of  the 
painters  have  realised  this  reaction  from  material- 
ism, and  are  responding  to  it.  It  is  for  a similar 

[ 381  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 

recognition  and  response  on  the  part  of  the  paint- 
ers of  this  country  that  we  are  waiting. 

Not  that  American  painting  can  show  no  ex- 
ample of  such  progress.  In  a previous  chapter  we 
have  noted  that,  while  Whistler  may  be  studied 
under  many  aspects,  the  most  important  and  abid- 
ing one  was  his  habit  of  evolving  from  material 
appearances  their  essence,  the  intangible  element 
in  them — in  fact,  the  spirituality  inherent  in  mat- 
ter. The  same  is  true  of  Thayer,  Dewing,  Lock- 
wood,  and  some  others  among  figure-painters.  In 
their  diverse  ways  these  artists  have  treated  the 
actual  appearance  as  a symbol  of  moods  and 
apprehensions  of  the  imagination  and  spirit.  A 
similar  tendency  may  also  be  detected  in  a few 
of  our  landscaj^e  painters,  notably  in  Twachtman, 
Winslow  Homer,  Dwight  W.  Tryon,  Edward  T. 
Steichen,  and  Ben  Foster.  Broadly  speaking,  how- 
ever, the  prevailing  characteristic  of  American 
painting  is  materialistic  rather  than  spiritual. 

That  the  latter  quality  is  necessary  for  the  high- 
est form  of  expression  in  modern  art  seems  to  me 
undeniable.  For  there  was  a time  when  spiritual- 
ity and  religion  w^ere  practically  one.  The  crav- 
ings of  the  spirit  grew  out  of  and  found  expres- 
sion in  the  religious  consciousness;  and  those  were 
the  great  days  of  painting.  The  common  and  col- 
lective need  of  the  people  was  to  have  its  faith  and 
soul-experiences  bodied  forth  by  art  in  terms  of 

[382] 


By  Courtesy  of  N.  E.  Montross 


5 


SUMMARY  OF  RESULTS 


religion ; and  the  artists,  whether  as  men  they  were 
religious  or  not,  responded  to  the  need  with  a no- 
bility of  design  and  execution,  the  influence  of 
which  extended  also  to  the  portrayal  of  subjects 
not  religious.  But  in  our  time  religion  and  spir- 
ituality, if  not  exactly  divorced,  are  at  least  very 
far  from  being  one.  Much  religion  is  mainly  a 
system  of  doctrine  and  ethics;  a great  deal  of  spir- 
ituality exists  among  people  not  attracted  to  any 
specific  formula  of  religion.  This  general  lack  of 
union  between  spirituality  and  religion  is  of  itself 
quite  sufficient  to  account  for  the  absence  of  noble 
religious  art  in  these  days.  There  exists  no  com- 
mon and  collective  need  demanding  it  and  making 
it  possible.  Since,  then,  modern  art  is  debarred  by 
circumstances  from  revealing  the  great  art  of  the 
past  along  the  latter’s  own  lines,  the  question  arises : 
Can  it  find  some  new  motive  growing  out  of  the 
conditions  of  the  present?  Only,  I feel  assured, 
if  a common  and  collective  recognition  of  the  claims 
of  the  spirit  results  in  a need  on  the  part  of  the 
public,  so  strong  as  to  encourage  and  compel  its 
realisation  in  art. 

Belief  in  humanity  is  the  practical  religion  of 
to-day,  and  it  works  for  man’s  physical,  material, 
and  intellectual  uplifting.  But,  as  a motive  for 
art,  its  influence  is  almost  purely  materialistic  and 
sensuous.  It  is  only  when  this  new  religion  shall 
become  impregnated  with  a correspondingly  prac- 

[385  ] 


STORY  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTING 


tical  belief  in  the  facts  of  spirit,  that  the  possibili- 
ties of  a great  art  in  modern  times  will  arise. 
Symptoms  of  this  new  movement,  as  I have  said, 
can  already  he  detected  in  American  painting. 
Whether  they  shall  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth 
depends  in  a final  analysis  upon  the  public. 


[386] 


INDEX 


Abbey,  Edwin  A.,  100 
His  career,  193 
Mural  decoration,  194 
Trial  of  Katherine  of  Aragon, 
195 

Mural  decoration,  320 
Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  320 
Academic  characteristics,  165 
Academic  style,  122 
Academic  training,  164 
Adams,  Samuel,  15 
Adirondack  Vista,  An,  Alexander 
H.  Wyant,  201 

Against  the  Sky,  F.  W.  Benson, 
264 

Albany,  mural  decorations  for 
Capitol  of,  307 
Alexander  Cosmo,  35 
Alexander,  Portrait  of  Miss,  James 
A.  McNeill  Whistler,  298 
Alexander,  John  W.,  254 
Mrs.  Hastings,  Portrait  of,  259 
Mural  decoration,  325 
Pittsburgh,  318 
Allen,  Thomas,  163 
Allston,  Washington,  56 
Career,  57 

Analysis  of  paintings,  60 
Spanish  Girl,  57 

Dead  Man  Restored  to  Life,  58 
All’s  Well,  Winslow  Homer,  187 
American  Glass,  156 
American  School,  The,  Matthew 
Pratt,  28 

Arcadia,  H.  Siddons  Mowbray,  176 
Ariadne,  Wyatt  Eaton,  169 
Ariadne,  John  Vanderlyn,  62 
Armstrong,  D.  Maitland,  163 
Art  for  Art’s  Sake,  123,  258,  330 
Artist  in  Museum,  C.  W.  Peale,  34 


Artist’s  Mother,  The,  James  A.  Mc- 
Neill Whistler,  293 
Ascension,  The,  John  La  Farge, 
309 

Atmosphere,  152,  241 
Autumn,  John  La  Farge,  157 
Ave  Maria,  Horatio  Walker,  227 


Ballin,  Hugo,  Europa  Sibyl,  367 
Barbizon  School,  influence  of,  77, 
124,  139,  144,  198,  200,  204, 
206,  214,  229 
Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  160 
Bathers,  The,  William  Morris 
Hunt,  132 

Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  John 
Trumbull,  52 
Beauty  and  Ugliness,  366 
Beaux,  Cecilia,  254 

Adelaide  Nutting,  Portrait  of, 
256 

Beckwith,  J,  Carroll,  163 
Belzons,  M.,  88 
Benson,  Frank  W.,  254 
Against  the  Sky,  264 
Calm  Morning,  268 
Berkeley,  Bishop,  5 
Bierstadt,  Albert,  78 
Painting  analysed,  81 
Yosemite  Valley,  80 
Blakelock,  Ralph  A.,  214 
Style  analysed,  217 
Brook  by  Moonlight,  215 
Blashfield,  Edwin  H.,  163 
Mural  decoration,  319 
Minnesota,  321 

WcLshington  Relinquishing  Office, 
325 

Blum,  Robert  F.,  163 


[387] 


INDEX 


Bonnat,  164 

Boston  in  Colonial  Times,  15 
Decoration  of  Trinity  Church, 
304 

Public  Library,  194,  313,  320,  323 
Boughton,  George  H.,  186 
Bouguereau,  164 
Boulanger,  164 

Boy  and  Butterfly,  William  Mor- 
ris Hunt,  131 

Boys  loith  Fish,  C.  W.  Hawthorne, 
368 

Bracquemond,  288 
Bridgman,  Frederick  Arthur,  163 
Brook  by  Moonlight,  The,  Ralph 
A.  Blakelock,  215 
Brown,  John  G.,  97 
Career,  99 

Analysis  of  pictures,  99 
Street  boys,  101 
Heels  over  Head,  96 
Brush,  George  de  Forest,  163 
Analysis  of  pictures,  177 
Study  of  Indians,  177 
Silence  Broken,  178 
Mourning  Her  Brave,  178 
Domestic  theme,  181 
The  Sculptor  and  the  King,  179 
Portrait  Group,  180 
Burning  of  the  Peggy  Stewart,  C. 
Y.  Turner,  317 


Cabanel,  164 

Calm  before  a Storm,  Allen  B. 
Talcott,  243 

Calm  Morning,  A,  Frank  W.  Ben- 
son, 268 

Camp,  Joseph  de,  257 

Caritas,  Abbott  H.  Thayer,  184 

Carlyle,  Portrait  of  Thomas.  James 
A.  McNeill  Whistler,  29 1 

Carnegie  Institute,  Pittsburgh, 
decoration,  325 

Castaway,  The,  Winslow  Homer, 
236 

Centennial  Exposition,  159 

Central  Park,  160 


Chase,  Adelaide  Cole,  254 
Chase,  William  M.,  114 
Method  of  teaching,  117 
Lady  loith  White  Shawl,  116 
Member  of  Society  of  American 
Artists,  163 
Portraits,  254 
Chicago  World’s  Fair,  313 
Christ  and  Nicodemus,  John  La 
Farge,  148 
Church,  F.  E.,  78 
Cotopawi,  83 
Classic  figures,  173 
Classic  landscape,  123 
Cloud,  The,  A.  L.  Groll,  338 
Cole,  Thomas,  66 
Early  life,  69 

Paintings  analysed,  70,  75 
Expulsion  from  Paradise,  68 
Destruction,  67 
Colonial  Times,  2 

Moral  atmosphere  of,  6 
Painters  of,  10 

Connecticut  Valley,  Alexander  H. 
Wyant,  196 

Cooper,  Colin  Campbell,  Pitts- 
burgh, Pa.,  334 
Copley,  John  Singleton,  10 
Early  life,  11 

Character  of  portraits,  16,  21 
Marriage,  21 

Departure  for  Europe,  21 
Historical  pictures,  22 
Work  compared  with  Stuart’s, 
U 

Lady  Wentworth,  Portrait  of,  14 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Izzard,  Portrait 
of,  19 

Col.  Epes  Sargent,  Portrait  of, 
20 

Copley,  Richard,  12 
Cotopawi,  F.  E.  Church,  83 
Courbet,  Gustave,  229,  278,  381 
Couture,  French  Academician,  126 
Cox,  Kenyon,  163 
Mural  decoration,  323 
Arts  and  Sciences,  324 
Crane,  Bruce,  163 


[ 388  ] 


INDEX 


Cushing,  Howard  G.,  The  Silver 
Qown,  363 

Daniel  Webster,  Portrait  of,  C. 
Harding,  92 

Dead  Man  Restored  to  Life, 
Washington  Allston,  58 
Degas,  288 

DeLancy,  Miss  Alice,  21 
Destruction,  Thomas  Cole,  67 
Dewey,  Charles  Melville,  Solitude, 
337 

Dewing,  Thomas  W.,  185,  382 
Types  analysed,  189 
The  Spinet,  188 
Le  Jaseur,  191 
La  PSche,  192 
Dielman,  Frederick,  113 
Diez,  professor  at  Munich,  113 
Dr.  Fothergill,  Portrait  of,  Gilbert 
Stuart,  40 

Dogma  of  Redemption,  John  S. 
Sargent,  322 

Dougherty,  Paul  A.,  Sea  and 
Rocks,  240 

Doughty,  Thomas,  66 
On  the  Hudson,  74 
Dumping  Snow,  G.  Luks,  375 
Duran,  Carolus,  117 
His  method,  164 
Durand,  Asher  B.,  71 
Paintings  analysed,  71 
Landscape,  73 

DUsseldorf,  76,  87,  103,  109 
Dutch  Picture,  The,  335 
Duveneck,  Frank,  114 
Career,  114 

Method  of  painting,  114 
Well  and  Water  Tank,  112 
Elizabeth  Boott  Duveneck,  115 
Member  of  Society  of  American 
Artists,  163 

Duveneck,  Portrait  of  Elizabeth 
Boott,  F.  Duveneck,  115 


Eakins,  Thomas,  230,  347 
Career,  231 


Surgical  Clinic,  228,  231 
Style  analysed,  232 
Eaton,  Wyatt,  171 
Ariadne,  169 

Early  Moonrise,  George  Inness,  138 
Early  Spring,  Leonard  Ochtman, 
345 

East  Side  Picture,  Jerome  Myers, 
376 

Easter  Eve,  J.  Sloan,  372 
ficole  des  Beaux  Arts,  123,  312 
Edwards,  Jonathan,  6 

Influence  on  moral  atmosphere, 
6 

Elliott,  Charles  Loring,  88 
Career,  94 

Portrait  of  the  Artist,  95 
English  Influence,  85,  87,  97 
Europa  Sibyl,  H.  Ballin,  367 
Expulsion  from  Paradise,  Thomas 
Cole,  68 


Fantin-Latour,  288 
Farm  in  Winter,  The,  J.  Alden 
Weir,  275 

February,  J.  H.  Twachtman,  284 
Feet  Washers,  The,  W.  B.  Van 
Ingen,  310 

Fire  Worshippers,  Homer  Martin, 
211 

Fitz,  B.  R.,  171 
Analysis  of  picture,  171 
The  Reflection,  170 
Flying  Dutchman,  The,  Albert  P. 

Ryder,  219 
Foster,  Ben,  382 
Fothergill,  Portrait  of  Dr.,  Gil- 
bert Stuart,  40 
Fowler,  Frank,  163 
French  Influence,  121,  159 
French  Vogue,  167 
Fuller,  George,  163 
Career,  221 
Pictures  analysed,  226 

Gauley,  Robert  David,  355 
Portrait  of  a Lady,  357 


[ 389  ] 


INDEX 


Lady  with  Muf,  358 
Genre  picture,  77,  94,  97 
Gentlewoman,  Portrait  of  a,  J. 

Alden  Weir,  272 
G^rome,  164,  176 
Gibson,  Charles  Dana,  182 
Gifford,  Robert  Swain,  163 
Girl  and  Pets,  Eastman  Johnson, 
108 

Girls  Reading,  Edmund  C.  Tar- 
bell,  271 

Glackens,  William  G.,  378 
G ley  re,  288 

Goelet,  Portrait  of  Beatrice,  John 
S.  Sargent,  247 

Golden  Age,  The,  John  La  Farge, 
142 

Grand  Style,  21,  60,  65 
Groll,  Albert  L.,  The  Cloud,  338 
Gross,  Portrait  of  Dr.,  Thomas 
Eakins,  228 

Haaar  and  Ishmael,  Beniamin 
West,  8 

Hamilton,  Portrait  of,  John  Trum- 
bull, 51 

Harding,  Chester,  88 
Career,  93 

Portrait  of  Daniel  Webster,  92 
Harrison,  Alexander,  265 
Analysis  of  pictures,  265 
The  Wave,  267 
Harrison,  Birge,  163 
Hart,  William  and  James  Mc- 
Dougal,  76 
Early  life,  76 
Scene  at  Xaponach,  79 
Hassam,  Childe,  277 
Rainy  Night,  280 
Lorelei,  279 
Orchard  Oriole,  276 
Hastings,  Portrait  of  Mrs.,  John 
Alexander,  259 
Hawthorne,  C.  W.,  378 
Boys  with  Fish,  368 
Heels  over  Head,  J.  G.  Browm,  96 
Hemlock  Pool,  J.  H.  Twachtman, 
283 


Henri,  Robert,  378 
Lady  in  Black,  263 
Herter,  Albert,  mural  decorations, 
325 

Agriculture  and  Commerce,  325 
Hesselius,  Gustavus,  5 
Teacher  of  Peale,  30 
Hogarth’s  picture  dramas,  97 
Homer,  Winslow,  185 
All’s  Well,  187 
Career,  233 
Analysis  of  style,  234 
West  Wind,  235 
The  Castaway,  236 
Hovenden,  Thomas,  163 
Last  Moments  of  John  Brown, 
185 

Hudson,  On  the,  Thomas  Doughty, 
74 

Hudson  River  School,  66 
Its  place  in  history,  75 
Hunt,  Richard  Morris,  312 
Hunt,  William  Morris,  123 
Career,  125 

Influenced  by  Millet,  128 
His  many  pupils,  129 
Mother  and  Child,  120 
Boy  and  Butterfly,  131 
The  Bathers,  139 
Mural  decorations,  134,  307 
Teacher  of  La  Farge,  150 
The  Flight  of  Night,  308 
The  Discoverer,  308 
Hunter,  Dr.  William,  35 


Ice  Cutters,  Horatio  Walker,  220 
Ideal,  128,  173,  282 

Spiritual  and  Physical,  182 
Impressionism,  266,  277,  286,  289, 
377 

Impressionists,  152,  238 
Inman,  Henry,  88 
Style  of  painting,  89 
Career,  90 

Inness,  George,  123,  198 
Career,  134 

Influence  of  Barbizon,  135 


[ 390  ] 


INDEX 


Painting  analysed,  145 
Midsummer,  137 
Early  Moonrise,  138 
Peace  and  Plenty,  141 
Inness,  George,  Jr.,  163 
Interlude,  An,  Sargent  Kendall, 
239 

Izzard,  Portrait  of  Mr.  and  Mrs., 
J.  S.  Copley,  19 


Japanese  Art,  285,  289 
Jaseur,  Le,  T.  W.  Dewing,  191 
Johnson,  Eastman,  103 
Career,  106 
Pictures  analysed,  109 
Oirl  and  Pets,  108 
Two  Men,  111 

Member  of  Society  of  American 
Artists,  163 

Johnston,  J.  Humphreys,  Mysteries 
of  Night,  364 
Jones,  Francis  C.,  163 
Jones,  H.  Bolton,  163 


Keeper  of  the  Threshold,  The, 
Elihu  Vedder,  175 
Kendall,  Sargent,  An  Interlude, 
239 

Kensett,  J.  F.,  71,  72 
Kitty,  Portrait  of  Miss,  J.  J. 
Shannon,  255 


Lady  in  Black,  R.  Henri,  263 
Lady  Wentworth,  Portrait  of, 
John  S.  Copley,  14 
Lady  with  White  Shawl,  W.  M. 
Chase,  116 

Lady  with  Muf,  R.  D.  Gauley,  358 
La  Farge,  John,  123 
Career,  144 
Study  of  Light,  151 
Study  of  Glass,  154 
The  Battle  Window,  155 
The  Wolf  Charmer,  153 
The  Golden  Age,  142 


Pomona,  147 

Christ  and  Nicodemtts,  148 
Autumn,  157 

Elected  President  of  Society  of 
American  Artists,  163 
Mural  decoration  in  Church  of 
St.  Thomas,  308 
The  Ascension,  309 
General  decoration,  312 
Lake  George,  Edward  J.  Steichen, 
384 

Landscape,  A.  B.  Durand,  73 
Landscape,  H.  W.  Ranger,  212 
Lathrop,  Francis,  163 
On  the  Canal,  333 
Lefebvre,  164 
Legros,  288 
Lenox,  James,  90 
Leslie,  Portrait  of  Eliza,  T.  Sully, 
91 

Lessing,  105 

Leutze,  Emanuel,  76,  103 
Career,  105 

Washington  Crossing  the  Dela- 
ware, 107 

Library  of  Congress,  decoration  of 
the  dome  of,  319 
Light,  151,  270 
Limner,  2 
Local  Color,  151 
Lockwood,  Wilton,  257,  382 
Portrait,  260 
Lorelei,  C.  Hassam,  279 
Lovell,  Portrait  of  John,  John 
Simbert,  7 
Low,  Will  H.,  163 
The  Portrait,  158 
Luks,  George,  378 
Dumping  Snow,  375 


Malbone,  Edward  S.,  59 
Manet,  152,  237,  265,  381 
Marquand,  Portrait  of  Mr.  Henry 
G.,  John  S.  Sargent,  248 
Martin,  Homer  D.,  198 
Career,  203 

Analysis  of  method,  204 


[391] 


INDEX 


Old  Church  in  Normandy,  202 
Westchester  Hills,  207 
View  on  the  Seine,  208 
Fire  Worshippers,  211 
Sentiment  of  landscape,  209 
May  Night,  W.  L.  Metcalf,  341 
Maynard,  George  W.,  163 
Study  at  Antwerp,  164 
Melchers,  Gari,  344 
Paintings  analysed,  347 
Shepherdess,  350 
Mother  and  Child,  353 
Sailor  and  Sweetheart,  354 
Metcalf,  W.  L.,  May  Night,  341 
Metropolitan  Museum,  140,  160 
Meyer,  Portrait  of  Mrs.  Carl, 
John  S.  Sargent,  244 
Midsummer,  George  Inness,  137 
Millet,  Frank  D.,  163 
Study  at  Antwerp,  164 
Mural  decorations,  326 
Treaty  of  the  Traverse  des 
Sioux,  327 

Millet,  Jean  Fran9ois,  127 
Milieu,  266,  277 

Minnesota,  Edwin  H.  Blashfteld, 
321 

Minor,  C.,  214 
Monet,  273 
Monticelli,  221 

Moonlight,  Dwight  Tryon,  383 
Mora,  F.  Luis,  Spanish  Fete,  371 
Morality  and  Art,  351 
Moran,  Thomas,  78 
Shoshone  Falls,  84 
Moreland,  98 

Mother  and  Child,  Gari  Melchers, 
353 

Mother  and  Child,  William  Mor- 
ris Hunt,  120 

Mowbray,  H.  Siddons,  'Arcadia, 
176  * 

Munich,  103,  110,  117,  339 
Mural  Painting,  304 
Characteristics  of,  319 
Murphy  J.  Francis,  Road  to  the 
Old  Farm,  342 

Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  Boston,  160 


Music  Room,  The,  James  A.  Mc- 
Neill Whistler,  Frontispiece, 
301 

Myers,  Jerome,  378 
East  Side  Picture,  376 
Mysteries  of  the  Night,  J.  Hum- 
phreys Johnston,  364 

Naponach,  Scene  at,  'W.  Hart,  79 
National  Academy  of  Design, 
founded,  32 

Dissensions  of  revolutionaries, 
H)2 

New  England  Farm  in  Winter, 
Dwight  Tryon,  379 
New  York,  DcWitt  Clinton  High 
School,  326 
Manhattan  Hotel,  325 
Nicodemus,  Visit  of,  J.  La  Farge, 
148 

Niemeyer,  John  H.,  163 
Normandy,  Old  Church  in,  H. 
Martin,  202 

Nutting,  Portrait  of  Adelaide, 
Cecilia  Beaux,  256 

Ochtman,  Leonard,  Early  Spring, 
345 

Old  Church  in  Normandy,  H.  Mar- 
tin, 202 

On  the  Canal,  F.  Lathrop,  333 
Opalescent  Glass,  154,  312 
Orchard  Oriole,  Childe  Hassam, 
276 
Otis,  15 

Palmer,  Walter  L.,  163 
Paul,  St.,  Capitol,  325 
Paris  Exposition,  339 
Paysage  Intime,  71 
Peace  and  Plenty,  G.  Inness,  141 
Peale,  C.  IP.,  Portrait  of,  Benja- 
min West,  13 

Peale,  Charles  Wilson,  10 
Career,  29 
Joins  the  array,  30 
Analysis  of  portraits,  31 


[392] 


INDEX 


Co-operates  in  founding  Penn- 
sylvania Academy,  32 
Work  compared  with  Stuart’s, 
42 

Portrait  of  Washington,  33 
Artist  in  Museum,  34 
Packer  La,  T.  W.  Dewing,  19:2 
P^goy  Stewart,  Burning  of  the, 
C.  Y.  Turner,  317 
Pelham,  Peter,  2 
Marries  mother  of  John  S.  Cop- 
ley, 15 

Pennington,  Mr.,  teacher  of  West, 
10 

Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts,  founded,  32 
Philadelphia,  23 
Ascendancy  of,  24 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  32 
Centennial  Exposition,  159 
Piano,  At  the,  James  A.  McNeill 
Whistler,  297 
Picknell,  William  L.,  163 
Piloty,  professor  at  Munich,  110 
Pine,  Robert  Edge,  23 
Paints  the  Hon.  Francis  Hop- 
kinson,  24 
Early  life,  25 

Studies  of  distinguished  heads, 
25 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Reid,  27 
Pissarro  274 

Pittsburgh,  Carnegie  Institute,  325 
Pittsburgh,  John  Alexander,  318 
Pittsburgh,  Pa.,  Colin  Campbell 
Cooper,  334 
Plein  Air,  123,  265 
Pointilliste,  273 
Pomona,  John  La  Farge,  147 
Portrait,  Wilton  Lockwood,  260 
Portrait,  A,  Irving  R.  Wiles,  252 
Portrait,  The,  WiU  H.  Low,  158 
Portrait  Orouy,  G.  de  F.  Brush, 
180 

Portrait  Group,  John  S.  Sargent, 
251 

Portrait  of  a Lady,  R.  D.  Grauley, 
357 


Portrait  of  the  Artist,  John  Van- 
derlyn,  61 

Portrait  of  the  Artist,  C.  L.  Elliot, 
95 

Pratt,  Matthew,  23 
Paint  Shop  Signs,  26 
Visits  West  in  London,  29 
The  American  School,  28 
Puritanic  Influence,  6,  166 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  323 

Quartley,  Arthur,  163 
Quidor,  teacher  of  Charles  L.  El- 
liott, 94 

Quincey,  Portrait  of  Mrs.  Nor^ 
ton.  Unknown,  4 

Rainy  Night,  A,  C.  Hassam,  280 
Ranger,  Henry  W.,  213 
Landscape,  212 
Realism,  101,  288,  381 
Coloristic,  110 
In  literature,  230 
Painting,  233,  237 
Newer,  269 

Redemption,  Dogma  of  The,  J.  S. 
Sargent,  322 

Redfield,  The  Valley,  346 
Reflection,  The,  B.  R.  Fitz,  170 
Reid,  Portrait  of  Mrs.,  R.  E.  Pine, 
27 

Reid,  Robert,  mural  decorations 
in  Boston  State  House,  326 
Rheinhart,  Charles  S.,  163 
Richardson,  H.  H.,  304,  312 
Road  to  the  Old  Farm,  J.  F. 

Murphy,  342 
Robinson,  Theodore,  163 
Romanticism,  104,  109 
Rome,  Elihu  Vedder,  328 
Rome,  goal  of  artists,  48 
Influence  of,  60 
Rood,  Professor,  274 
Ryder,  Albert  P.,  218 
Style  analysed,  221 
Siegfried,  216 
Flying  Dutchman,  219 


[393] 


INDEX 


Sailor  and  Sweetheart,  Gari  Melch- 
ers,  354f 

Sargent,  John  S.,  245 
Career,  245 
Analysis  of  style,  246 
Brush  work,  250 
Beatrice  Ooelet,  247 
Marquand,  Henry  O.,  248 
Portrait  Group,  251 
Mrs,  Carl  Meyer,  244 
Mural  decoration,  320 
Prophets,  320 

Dogma  of  Redemption,  322 
Sargent,  Portrait  of  Col.  Epes, 
John  S.  Copley,  20 
Sartain,  William,  163 
Schadow,  director  at  Dusseldorf, 
103 

Scientific  study  of  light,  151,  152 
Scirmer,  teacher  at  Dusseldorf, 
76 

Sculptor  and  the  King,  The, 
George  de  Forest  Brush,  179 
Sea  and  Rocks,  Paul  A.  Dough- 
erty, 240 
Seurat,  274 
Shannon,  J.  J.,  254 

Miss  Kitty,  Portrait  of,  255 
Sheep  lFoj?Ain^,  Horatio  Walker, 
224 

Shepherdess,  Gari  Melchers,  350 
Shirlaw,  Walter,  114 
Summer  Idyll,  119 
Training,  171 
Shop-signs,  26 

Shoshone  Falls,  Thomas  Moran, 
84 

Siegfried,  Albert  P.  Ryder,  216 
Silver  Gown,  The,  H.  J.  Cushing, 
363 

Simmons,  Edward,  mural  decora- 
tions in  Boston  State  House, 
326 

Singleton,  John,  15 
Sloan,  John,  373 
Easter  Eve,  372 
Sluice,  The,  F.  B.  Williams,  349 
Smedley,  William  T.,  163 


Smibert,  John,  2 
His  life,  5 
His  sitters,  5 
Portrait  of  John  Lovell,  7 
Society  of  American  Artists,  162 
Solitude,  Charles  Melville  Dewey, 
337 

South,  moral  atmosphere  con- 
trasted with  North,  9 
Trade  with  England  after  Rev- 
olution, 47 

Spanish  FSte,  F.  Luis  Mora,  371 
Spanish  Girl,  W.  Allston,  57 
Spinet,  The,  Thomas  W.  Dewing, 
188 

Stained  Glass,  154,  305 
Steichen,  Edward  T.,  382 
Lake  George,  384 
Stuart,  Gilbert,  10 
Early  Life,  35 
Departure  for  London,  36 
Analysis  of  portraits,  36 
Portraits  of  Washington,  38 
Settles  in  Boston,  42 
Work  compared  with  Peale  and 
Copley,  43,  44 

Portrait  of  Dr.  Fothergill,  40 
Portrait  of  Washington,  39 
Sully,  Thomas,  88 
Early  life,  88 
Analysis  of  painting,  89 
Portrait  of  Eliza  Leslie,  91 
Summer  Idyll,  W.  Shirlaw,  119 
Surgical  Clinic,  T.  Eakins,  228,  231 
Symbolism,  172,  287 
Synthesis,  72 


Talcott,  Allen  B.,  Calm  before  a 
Storm,  243 

Tarbell,  Edmund  C.,  Girls  Read- 
ing, 271 

Thayer,  Abbot  H.,  163,  382 
Analysis  of  pictures,  382 
Virgin  Enthroned,  183 
Caritas,  184 

Theatre  in  Colonial  Times,  9 


[394] 


INDEX 


In  Philadelphia,  24 
Influence  in  Diisseldorf,  104 
Thomas,  Church  of  Saint,  mural 
decoration,  308 
Tiffany,  Louis  C.,  163 
Treaty  of  the  Traverse  des 
Sioux,  Frank  D.  Millet,  327 
Trial  of  Katherine  of  Aragon, 
Edwin  A.  Abbey,  195 
Trinity  Church,  Boston,  mural 
decoration,  305 

Trumbull,  John,  early  life,  49 
Studies  with  West,  50 
Estimate  as  painter,  50 
Portrait  of  Hamilton,  51 
Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  52 
Mural  Decoration,  304 
Tryon,  Dwight  W.,  382 
New  England  Farm  in  Winter, 

379 

Twilight — Autumn,  380 
Moonlight,  383 
Turner,  C.  Y.,  186 
Burning  of  the  Peggy  Stewart, 
317 

Mural  decoration,  325 
Opening  of  the  Erie  Canal,  326 
Twachtman,  J.  H.,  163,  382 
Characteristics  analysed,  278 
Career,  281 
Hemlock  Pool,  283 
February,  284 

Twilight — Autumn,  Dwight  Tryon, 

380 

Two  Men,  Eastman  Johnson,  111 

Universal  Geometry,  149 

Valley,  The,  Edward  W.  Redfield, 
346 

Values,  242,  262 
Vanderlyn,  John,  64 

Estimate  of  paintings,  65 
Portrait  of  the  Artist,  61 
Ariadne,  63 

Van  Ingen,  The  Feet  Washers,  310 
Vedder,  Elihu,  163 
Analysis  of  method,  171 


Illustrations,  171 
Symbolism,  172 
Rome,  328 

Corrupt  Government,  329 
Keeper  of  the  Threshold,  175 
Velasquez,  238,  262,  285,  289 
View  of  the  Seine,  Homer  Mar- 
tin, 208 

Vinton,  Frederick  P.,  163,  257 
Virgin  Enthroned,  Abbot  H. 
Thayer,  183 

Volk,  Douglas,  163,  186 
Vollon,  365 

Wagner,  professor  at  Munich,  113 
Walker,  Horatio,  Ice  Cutters,  220 
Wood  Cutters,  223 
Sheep  Washing,  224 
Ave  Maria,  227 

Washington,  Crossing  the  Delcu- 
ware,  E.  Leutze,  107 
Washington,  Portrait  of,  Charles 
Wilson  Peale,  33 

Washington,  Portrait  of,  Gilbert 
Stuart,  39 

Washington,  D.  C.,  Library  of 
Congress,  319,  323,  329 
Wave,  The,  A.  Harrison,  267  ” 
Webster,  Daniel,  Portrait  of, 
Chester  Harding,  92 
Weir,  J.  Alden,  163 
A Gentlewoman,  272 
~The  Farm  in  Winter,  275 
Weir,  Portrait  of  Mrs.  Robert, 
Unknown,  3 

Well  and  Water  Tank,  F.  Duve- 
neck,  112 

Wentworth,  Lady,  17 
West,  Benjamin,  10 
Birth  and  early  training,  10 
Earliest  portraits,  11 
Residence  in  England,  11 
Visited  by  Copley,  21 
Visited  by  Stuart,  36 
Teacher  of  Trumbull,  50 
Hagar  and  Ishmael,  8 
Portrait  of  C.  W.  Peale,  13 
Teacher  of  Sully,  89 


[396] 


INDEX 


West  Wind,  Winslow  Homer,  235 
Westchester  Hills,  Homer  Martin, 
207 

Whistler,  J.  A.  McNeill,  285 
Career,  288 
Theories,  290 
Pictures  analysed,  292 
Influence,  302 
Sarasate,  295 
Nocturne-Bognor,  296 
The  White  Girl,  299 
Symphony  in  White,  299 
Little  Lady  Sophie  of  Soho,  299 
Etchings,  302 
At  the  Piano,  297 
Portrait  of  the  ArtisTs  Mother, 
292,  293 

Portrait  of  Carlyle,  291,  295 


The  Music  Room,  Frontispiece, 
301 

Miss  Alexander,  298 
Whitman,  Sarah  C.,  163 
Wiles,  Irving  R.,  Portrait,  252 
Williams,  Frederick  Ballard,  The 
Sluice,  349 

Wood  Cutters,  Horatio  Walker, 
223 

Wright,  Joseph,  23 
Wyant,  Alexander  H.,  163 
Career,  198 

Pictures  analysed,  200 
Connecticut  Valley,  196 
Adirondack  Vista,  201 


Yosemite  Valley,  A.  Bierstadt,  80 


[396] 


(mr 


libraW 


